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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



The Lake English Classics 

general Editor: LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A. B., Professor 
of English Literature and Rhetoric in Brown University 



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SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY 

EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHERS 
NEW YORK CHICAGO 



Zl)c%af^c JBrxQlxehdltissicB 

EDITED BY 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B. 

Professor of English Literature and Rhetoric in 
Brown University 



SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 



FEOM THE 

COLLEGE ENTRANCE EEQUIREMENTS 

IN ENGLISH 



EDITED BY 

VIDA D. SCUDDEE, M. A. 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH* LITERATURE AT WELLESLEY COLLEGE 



SCOTT, FOEESMAN AND COMPANY 
CHICAGO NEW YOEK 






Copyright 1912 

BY 

Scott, Foresman and Company 




©CI.A309243 

/ 




PEEFATOEY>^OTE 

The selections in this volume include the majority of 
the shorter poems demanded by the College Entrance Ee- 
qnirements in English. They are presented in this form 
because it was judged that one volume of reasonable size 
would be more convenient for both teachers and students 
than a series of very thin volumes. 

ViDA D. SCUDDER* 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Prefatory Note 5 

Thomas Gray — Biographical STcetch 9 

Text : 

Elegy, Written in a Country Churchyard 26 

Notes to the Elegy 31 

Oliver Goldsmith — Biographical Sketch 37 

Text: 

The Deserted Village 00 

Notes to the Deserted Village 65 

Lord Byron — Biographical Sketch 71 

Text; 

The Prisoner of Chillon 87 

Childe Harold— SeleeCons from Canto III 101 

Childe Harold— Canto IV. 114 

Notes to the Prisoner of Chillon 178 

Notes to Childe Harold — Canto III 181 

Notes to Childe Harold — Canto IV 184 

Lord Macaulay — Biographical Sketch 207 

Text: 

Horatius 227 

The Battle of the Lake Eegillus 250 

Virginia 280 

The Prophecy of Capys 299 

Notes on the Lays of i^ncient Eome 314 

Matthew Arnold — Biographical Sketch 333 

Text: 

Sohrab and Rustum 345 

Notes to Sohrab and Eustum 373 



THOMAS aEAY 



THOMAS GEAY. 1716—1771. 



Gray was born in 1716, in a decade when Addison 
and Pope, Steele and Swift, were delighting the English 
public with their keen wit and their ironic worldly wis- 
dom. He died in 1771, five years before the American 
Declaration of Independence, and eighteen years before 
the Fall of the Bastille in France. His life thus covered 
the central portion of the eighteenth century. It was a 
period when no great faith or hope was exciting the 
world, when people admired correctness rather than orig- 
inality, and when English letters inclined rather to prose 
than to poetry. Dr. Johnson was in London, playing the 
role of literary dictator; in his hands and in those of 
Oliver Goldsmith and others, periodical journals con- 
tinued the tradition established in Queen Anne's day by 
Addison and Steele. The novel, in the hands of Eichard- 
son. Fielding, Sterne, and Smollett, was expressing con- 
temporary life with a new breadth, zest, and freedom. 
Over on the Continent, Voltaire and Diderot were flash- 
ing a cold light across the age. Lessing, the great ration- 
alistic critic, flourished in Germany. Far in the North, a 
man quite apart from his century, the seer and mystic 
Emanuel Swedenborg was bearing firm witness to much 
that the spirit of the times most scornfully ignored. Jean 
Jacques Eousseau, a restless genius, full of passion 
destined to stir almost at once a new life in England, 
was, it is interesting to notice, almost an exact contempo- 

11 



12 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

rary of Gray : his Nouvelle Heloise appeared in 1760, ten 
years after the Elegy in a Country Churchyard. 

Poets, at this time, were few and far between. Apart 
from Oliver Goldsmith, the only English poet of real 
importance besides Gray himself was Gray's brother in 
spirit, Collins. "A sort of spiritual east wind,'' says 
Matthew Arnold, ' Vas at that time blowing" ; we shall 
probably not be wrong if we agree with him in account- 
ing by this prevalent atmosphere for the slightness in 
quantity of Gray's production and for the impression it 
conveys of a man stirred by deeper emotions than he can 
express. 

Gray was a scholar-poet.^ A friend wrote, "Mr. Gray 
was perhaps the most learned man in Europe," and the 
claim appears to have been just. The poet was at home 
in every branch of history : he was an unwearied student 
of metaphysics and politics, an eager antiquarian, and 
he had a fine taste in "painting, prints, architecture, and 
gardening." We know him to have been an ardent stu- 
dent of the natural sciences as his age conceived them, 
a fine and fastidious lover of the classics, and an 
omnivorous reader in many languages. In short, he 
represents that union of wide culture and sound scholar- 
ship which, as specialization increases, is becoming in- 
creasingly difficult to attain, but which marked to a rare 
degree a few of the distinguished men of the eighteenth 
century. 

It is quite fitting that we see a man of such tastes 
and acquirements against the background of the great 

1 It is interesting to notice, as Matthew Arnold suggests in another 
connection, quoting from Sainte Beuvo, "how often we see the alli- 
ance, singular as it may at first sight appear, of the poetical genius 
with the genius for scholarship and philology." 



THOMAS GEAY 13 

university where he spent his life. Gray^s uneventful 
biography may be briefly chronicled. He was born of 
simple folk: his mother and aunt^ to both of whom 
he was sincerely attached^ kept a milliners^ shop in 
London. The father was apparently half insane^ but 
the women of the family managed to give the clever boy 
the education of an English gentleman^ at Eton and at 
Cambridge. In the eighteenth century, the English 
universities were hardly great centres of iMtellectual 
activity. The life in them was rather dull and languid; 
the education was stereotyped, confined to mediaeval lines, 
and not nearly so stimulating as it is today. But the 
beautiful old town presented then as now its noble 
buildings and wide sweeps of greensward dotted by 
great trees : and it had in its keeping that great gift 
which modern universities offer all too rarety, — the gift 
of scholastic leisure. Here Gray's life was to be passed. 
But first he knew for three years the privilege that has 
always been deemed essential to the training of an 
English scholar, — extended travel on the Continent. 
In 1739, he went to Europe as the guest of his school 
friend, Horace AValpole. Walpole, the son of Sir Eobert 
\Yalpole, the prime minister, was an erratic, clever, rest- 
less, superficial man. He is known in English literature 
as the author of many sprightly letters which throw 
much light on his time, and of an extraordinary story, 
The Castle of Otranto, one of the landmarks of the 
Eomantic Eevival. Before very long Gray and Walpole 
disagreed, and Gray returned to England alone, after 
a three years' absence, to settle down in his university. 
After a few years he renewed his relation with Walpole ; 
in time he made many other friends, especially, as he 



14 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

grew older, among younger men. He had indeed a rare 
capacity for warm friendship ; and we may agree with a 
Swiss friend of his named Bonstetten that Gray would 
have been a happier man and have written more poetry 
had he married and known the joys of fatherhood. 
However, the semi-monastic life at the university suited 
his tastes very well. He held at one time the professor- 
ship of Poetry, but, according to a curious fashion of 
the times, never gave any lectures. He was offered, and 
declined, the laureateship. There is nothing further to 
record in outward events, except his death, which 
occurred in 1771. 

Gray lived somewhat apart from the other literary men 
of his day. He declined, for instance, to meet Dr. John- 
son ; and the surly old dictator reciprocated with an un- 
reasonable distaste for his poetry. But Gray^s aloofness 
from his contemporaries was more than external: he 
really did undergo different experiences from theirs. 
They were sons of the pseudo-classic age ; their great lik- 
ing was for the literature of Eome and for the French 
books formed upon it: Gray had a fine appreciation of 
classical literature, but his affinity was rather for the 
Greek than for the Eoman. They repudiated with scorn 
and impatience all that Avas ^^Gothicke'' : Gray was fas- 
cinated by Xorse, Celtic and mediaeval literature, that 
is, by the remote, primitive, and rude. Few of his con- 
temporaries cared to stir often out of London : Gray was 
one of the first men to be sensitive to the beauty of wild 
nature, and to feel toward mountains and precipices 
somewhat as Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, and Euskin 
taught the nineteenth century to feel. The men of his 
day still used exclusively heroic couplets : Gray enjoyed 



THOMAS GEA"? 15 

and experimented with finely wrought lyrical forms. 
No wonder that he withdrew within himself. His in- 
stinctive reserve was increased by an inclination to a 
constitutional melancholy^ or ^^leucocholy," — as he 
called it^ — a mild ^Vhite'^ depression that at times 
threatened to inhibit his powers. He liked to write : it 
was^ as he told Walpole, his greatest pleasure. But 
freedom and power seldom visited him, and when they 
did, made short and elusive stay. Profoundly stirred at 
times by the instincts of the coming age, he was ill at 
ease between the limitations of his own nature and the 
critical canons of his day. He allowed few men to 
penetrate his intimacy, but those few loved him keenly 
and honored him truly : and his reticent figure, while it 
still leaves the majority indifferent, will always be 
especially attractive to those to whom it appeals at all. 

II. 

Swinburne said that the Muse gave birth to Collins: 
she only gave suck to Gray. Yet in spite of this dictum 
we must accept the statement of Mr. Gosse that Gray 
is the most important poetical figure in our literature 
between Pope and Wordsworth. This is partly due to 
the preciseness with which his work represents the 
transition from an earlier period to that which was to 
follow. In his scant but highly finished achievement 
we can recognize clearly the ^^notes^^ of successive poetic 
schools, and one of the charms of these poems for the 
scholarly reader is the various literary associations which 
they evoke. Yet even while we perceive the sequence 
of associations, we realize that we are listening to no 
mere echoes of other men. Gray^s genius was dis- 



16 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

tinctive. His poetry may seem at first impersonal and 
cold; but throngh its reticence the sensitive reader 
finds no difficulty in seeing the man. He did not 
merely wear his learning as an ornament^ he made it 
a part of himself: the different influences which his 
poems reflect are no fashions adopted languidly to suit 
the mood of the honr^ but forces that have stirred his 
being to the depths. The melodies he gives ns are no 
less genuine because they are no ^^native wood-notes 
wild/^ but proceed from an instrument shaped by 
conscious art. 

The first group of poems in the slender volume that 
represents Gray^s entire work in verse, contains a few 
odes written in the year 1742, when he was twenty-six 
years old: To Spring; On a Distant Prospect of Eton 
College; On Adversity, iVlready in these poems Gray 
breaks away from the heroic couplet into free lyrical 
forms. But these carefully phrased odes fall cold on 
the ear. They reflect the inveterate pleasure of the 
eighteenth century in personification and abstraction, 
and the current habit of moralizing, so fatal, from the 
modern point of view, to true imaginative verse. The 
lover of Gray can rightly commend the grace, the elabo- 
rately delicate workmanship, of these lyrics : but Gray 
never would have been the most important figure in 
our poetic history between Pope and Wordsworth had 
he continued to write in this vein. 

During this same year, the Elegy was begun but not 
completed : and now there fell on Gray, for some reason, 
a long-continued incapacity to write. For five years 
he lived a life of academic seclusion, apparently un- 
visited by creative impulse. He broke silence in 1747 



THOMAS GEAY 17 

with a charming and gay trifle^ the Ode on Horace 
Walpole^s cat, drowned in a vase of goldfishes : and in 
1750, exactly one hundred years before Tennyson pub- 
lished In Memoriam, he finished the Elegy in a Country 
Churchyard. It was not until seven years later that he 
published his two important and elaborate Pindaric 
odes. The Progress of Poesy and The Bard. Of the 
Elegy we shall speak later. The two odes are of great 
significance in the history of English letters. The 
Progress of Poesy, severely formal in structure, is suf- 
fused by a fine imaginative fervor, a subtle and pene- 
trating perception of beauty, strange indeed to that 
prosaic age. It shows how a critical subject, dealing not 
with life but with the imaginative interpretation of 
life, may so quicken emotion that it becomes fit inspira- 
tion for lofty poetry. The Bard is in some ways on a 
still higher level: it marks the free play of a type of 
enthusiasm which Pope, Addison, Johnson would alike 
have despised. Gray is fired by an old legend that the* 
bards of Wales were massacred by order of King 
Edward I. He imagines an ancient bard, the solitary 
survivor of his class, high on a cliff above a gloomy defile 
through which the King passes; denouncing, cursing, 
lamenting, till his impassioned chant evokes the vision of 
the grisly band of his murdered comrades, who together 
weave the bloody tissue of Edward's line and in weird 
chorus predict the tragic fate of his descendants. At 
(i:he end the bard plunges from the precipice into the 
roaring flood. It is a wild and striking theme. The 
poem is born of that reaction from suave or satiric 
pictures of artificial life, that craving for the primeval, 
the passionate, the strange, which were beginning to 



18 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

stir in the breast of the decorous eighteenth century. 
It is one of the great landmarks in the progress of what 
we know as the Eomantic Eevolt. 

In Gray^s later life he yielded himself almost wholly 
to the romantic impulse. A French book on Norse 
mythology^ by Paul Henri Mallet^ fired his imagination. 
He learned Icelandic, — an unheard-of feat in those 
days, — and became as fascinated with the ancient myths 
of the far North as William Morris was to be in the 
nineteenth century. Two odes, Tlie Fatal Sister and 
The Descent of Odin, and certain fragmentary transla- 
tions from the Welsh, are the fruits of this enthusiasm, 
in which Gray was more than a century in advance of 
his age. The incongruous precision by which impres- 
sions .of savage beauty and terror are presented, still, 
however, betrays the eighteenth century, and the poems 
are singularly interesting monuments of a transforma- 
tion of poetic taste. 

These poems end the significant work of Gray in 
verse. But wholly to know him, one must turn also to 
his prose. ^ In his letters, late and early, and in his 
Journal in the LaTces, written two years before his death. 
Gray is more off his guard than in his verse : and they 
reveal him to have been in his instincts practically a 
modern man. One can trace through Gray's prose 
an almost complete prophecy of the awakening and 
growth of modern romantic feeling. It is full of evi- 
dences of exquisite taste and sound critical feeling, such, 
as Matthew Arnold need not have disowned. It reveals 
the wide range of intellectual interests that doubtless 
helped to preserve the sanity of a nature inclined to 

1 Excellently edited by Mr. Gosse. 



THOMAS GEAY 19 

introspective brooding^ if not to melancholia : and above 
all it shows a feeling for natural beautj^ entirely new in 
his generation. ^^Yon cannot imagine/' Addison had writ- 
ten after vivid descriptions of the horrors of a journey 
across the x41ps^ ^^hovr pleased I am at the sight of a 
plain/' But Gray, not many years later, can break into 
rhapsodies over the glory of the mountain landscape 
around the Grande Chartreuse : ^^Not a precipice, not a 
torrent, not a cliff, but is pregnant with religion and 
poetry." Mountains to him were "monstrous creatures 
of God/' The experiences of his spirit among the Eng- 
lish lakes or the Welsh hills are charming reading stilL 
If one adds the testimony of the prose to that of the 
poetry, it is hard to avoid agreeing with Matthew 
Arnold that had Gray lived three-quarters of a century 
later, in a more favorable air, he might have proved 
himself, in quantity as in quality of achievement, a 
w^orthy comrade to Keats, Wordsworth, and Shelley. 
He lived in the twilight, when the romantic dawn was 
faint and chill: yet all who love the sober purity of 
the light before the sun has risen should love his poetry. 
"The st3de I have aimed at," he said, "is extreme 
conciseness of expression, yet pure, perspicuous, and 
musical." Pure, perspicuous, musical ! They are words 
which no verse in the language more fully deserves 
than his. 

III. 

It is curious that a fastidious recluse, whose point 
of view was so largely academic as that of Gray, should 
have written what was long. the most widely popular 
poem in English literature. The fact may suggest that 



20 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

the experiences and reflections of the keenest scholars 
are;, after all, fundamentally much the same as those 
of everyone else: or it may show that the finest re- 
sources of poetic art are most effectively used on a 
subject of universal appeal. Someone has well pointed 
out that Gray doubtless found it as natural to write 
for his masterpiece a poem dealing with the common- 
places of our mortality as each new artist finds it to give 
to the world his conception of the Madonna. 

Gray kept the Elegy by him for a long while before 
lie finally finished it and sent it to AYalpole. Even then^ 
he did not publish it until news of a pirated edition 
reached him when it was published he did not at first 
sign his name. The authorship^ however^ could not 
remain a secret : probably he did not really wish it to do 
so; and it is a credit co the times that the high excel- 
lence of the poem was at once recognized. 

The measure used by Gray, — the quatrain composed 
of iambic pentameters with alternate rhymes, — had 
been pronounced by Dryden, doubtless with some exag- 
geration, to be "the most magnificent that our language 
afforded.^^ He had himself composed in it his Annus 
Mirabilis, Gray popularized the measure and in a way 
consecrated it to elegiac use. Its rich amplitude, even 
flow, and lofty dignity are evident at once. If we com- 
pare with the movement of this stanza some of the 
exquisite lyrical measures in Graj^, — as, for instance, in 
the Progress of Poesy or the unfinished Ode on Vicissi- 
tude, — the rare fineness of his ear and the variety in his 
singing tones will be evident at once. 

If the melody charms, the imagery is no less perfect, 
especially at the beginning and the end, which present 



THOMAS GEAY 21 

■QS with concrete pictures framing the more general re- 
flections of the central portion of the poem. The whole 
poem is ''a twilight piece/' to borrow a phrase from 
Browning; during the first four stanzas, the darkness 
gradually closes in, with exquisite gradations from dusk 
to moonlight. The atmosphere and the scene aflEord an 
ideal setting for pensive meditation, in which now and 
again the memory of "incense-breathing Morn'^ affords 
the beautj^ of contrast. 

It is eyen more true of the Elegy than of Gray's other 
works that it is in one way not an original poem. To a 
cultured reader, the undertones of association constitute 
much of the charm. Eyerj^ line can be annotated by 
parallel passages from other literatures, — Greek, Latin^ 
Italian, French, and English. We shall mention in the 
notes only a few of such passages, and those chiefly from 
Milton, because to this poet Gray owed a special debt. 
But the process, if one has leisure, is interesting. It as- 
suredly shows the breadth of Gray's reading, although 
one is tempted to ascribe many resemblances which the 
critics point out rather to natural coincidence than to 
conscious borrowing. But if Gray takes his good where 
he flnds it, as the French proyerb says, he makes it 
intimately his own. 

True wit is Nature to advantage dressed, — 
What oft was thought but ne 'er so well expressed. 

All poetry is more than is commonly recognized the 
consummate flower of a long social process, and a poem 
is none the worse, nay, it is better, because it puts the 
final stamp of perfect excellence on an idea which hun- 
dreds of writers have before rendered. 



23 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Not only is the theme of the Elegy commonplace, and 
the detail full of poetic echoes : the poem as a whole is 
the best example of a type of writing widely current at 
that time which is in itself so consciously literary as 
to seem to many artificial. The poetry of Milton in 
general, and his II Penseroso in particular, exerted a 
surprising influence over a whole group of poets dur- 
ing the middle of the eighteenth century. To revel 
in the sweets of Melancholy became the order of the 
day. Yet there was more in this than a literary 
fashion. In an age so lacking in poetic and positive 
inspiration, melancholy was the easiest and most natural 
mood for sensitive and imaginative men. Who can 
conceive a contemporar}^ of Johnson's breaking into 
exultation, like Shelley in The Skylark, or penetrating 
to the deeper sources of permanent joy, like Wordsworth 
in The Daffodils ? The mood of pensive reflection 
was the mood native to the age. Death, above all, is the 
great Eeality which no decorum can obscure: and on 
Death the sentiment of the time brooded incessantly. 
Two great and lovely poems stand out, in a mass of 
kindred verse, as the chief contribution of this mood to 
English poetry: the one is, of course, Gray's Elegy; 
the other is the Ode to Evening of William Collins. 
The two may well be compared, and it will be evident, 
despite entire difference in the scheme and subject, that 
the same order of feeling inspires them. CoUins's ode 
reads like a commentary on the Elegy, expressing a 
temperament even more sensitive but less intellectual 
than that of Gray. 

We have placed the Elegy in its period and in its 
relation to poetic tradition and contemporary work. 



THOMAS GRAY 23 

The best way to feel its intrinsic value is to learn it by 
heart and to let its quiet and stately music set the tune 
to a series of one^s days. In spite of the fact that the 
poem is, as we have shown, the product of a definite 
literary movement, close acquaintance with it reveals 
two things that impart to it an intimate and individual 
charm. The .first is the implied revelation of per- 
sonality: the second, the sense, rare indeed in a time 
which valued chiefly the exclusive, the sophisticated, and 
the novel, of fellowship with the universal, the simple, 
and the abiding : with Poverty and Labor, with ]!f ature 
and with Death. 

Gray does not, to be sure, reveal himself as Shelley 
does in Adonais, or Tennyson in In Memoriam, Com- 
pared with these poems, also elegiac, the Elegy remains 
impersonal, even to the close. But it is in vain that 
the intentional pose, so to speak, retains that impersonal 
attitude demanded by the conventions of the time 
and grateful to Gray^s natural reserve. The whole tone 
of the poem, its every detail and cadence, reveal a per- 
sonal feeling uninterrupted by one false or jarring note. 
The twilight landscape at the opening, and the sub- 
dued sadness of the general reflections on mortality 
lead to the last stanzas, where we get the direct picture 
of the poet^s soul. For Gray, by a slight turn, looks 
forward and thinks of himself as buried in the church- 
yard; and so the poem does not, after all, confine itself 
to general musings, but, like Bion's Elegy on Mosclius, 
or Shelley^s Adonais, or Milton^s Lycidas, mourns with 
a note of individual sorrow, touched in this case by 
self-pity, over one dear dead youth. 

Tn this self-revelation we have an earnest of that 



24 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

poetry of the interior life which was to be the gift of 
the nineteenth century to the world. Xo less do we find 
in the Elegy a faint prophecy of the democratic breadth 
of the coming age. Gray not only draws from deeper 
wells than most of his contemporaries; he also gazes 
wider afield. The ^'storied nri;i and animated bust'^ — 
such trophies of the distinguished dead as greet the 
tourists^ eyes in every large English church — do not 
arrest him. Outside^ under the yew-tree^ he loves to 
linger^ tenderly meditating on the graves of the humble 
and unknown. If the familiar lines concerning the 
emptiness of worldly glory read like platitudes, let us 
realize that these are platitudes all too seldom appre- 
hended as truths. Eeverence for ^^the short and simple 
annals of the poor/^ gives to the Elegy high sincerity and 
enduring worth. 

Yet;, in conclusion, it is hard to resist a sense of 
disappointment when one sets the Elegy beside other 
great elegies of the English race. For the first thing 
that strikes one about all these other poems, is, that 
the thought of Death is transfigured in them by the 
thought of Immortality. In Lycidas, the elegy of the 
seventeenth centun^ classical memories blend strangely 
with the Hebraic theme, but echoes of 

The inexpressive nuptial song 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love 

sound through the Miltonic harmonies. In A dona is, the 
elegy of the post-Eevolutionary age, though the thought 
of personal immortality is absent, the poet is rapt by 
the vision of the soul of man as "a portion of the 
Eternal.^^ In In Memoriam, the Victorian elegy, 



THOMAS GEAY 35 

Tenn3^soii through many tempests reaches an assured 
haven^ whence he perceives triumphantly that Love can 
never be bound of Death. Compared with these, we 
must indeed feel that Gray^s world is ^'left to darkness/^ 
In vain we long that he should lift his eyes, if only 
for one brief moment, from graves to stars. J^ay, — 
place the Elegy, not beside a supreme expression of vic- 
torious faith, like Adonais or In Memoriam, but beside 
a casual poem, like Wordsworth^s We Are Seven, — are 
we not forced to recognize that the little cottage girl, 
with her clustering curls, who persistently counts her 
dead brothers and sisters among her living playfellows, 
had a vision denied to the poet-scholar? But let us not 
ask from Gray what he cannot give us. Eather let us 
recognize what he brings : a deep sense of the realities of 
human life, a grave piety, a sensitive and pure emotion, 
that never lacks the restraining grace of self-control. 
And all these are expressed in verse whose high perfec- 
tion of finish, whose noble harmonies and lovely images, 
make an appeal to the universal heart that time can not 
wither nor custom stale. 



ELEGY, WEITTEN IN A COUNTEY 
CHUECHYAED. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
The lowing herd wind slowly o^er the lea. 

The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

5 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, 
10 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bow'r, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree^s shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
15 Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. 
The cock^s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
20 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
. Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

26 



GEAY'S ELEGY 27 

ISTo children run to lisp their sire's return^ 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

25 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bow^d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
30 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Xor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow^r, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
35 Awaits alike th' inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

iSTor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If Mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Where thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
40 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 

45 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, 
Hands,*that the rod of empire might have sway'd. 
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 



28 SHORTEE EiNGLlSH POEMS 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
50 Eich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll ; 
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
iVnd froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark unf athom'd caves of ocean bear ; 
55 Pull many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that wdth dauntless breast 

The little Tyrant of his fields withstood, 
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
60 Some Cromw^ell guiltless of his country's blood. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 

65 Their lot forbade : nor circumscrib'd alone 

Their growling virtues, but their crimes confln'd ; 
Porbade to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
70 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame. 
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 

Par from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 



GKAY^S ELEGY 29 

75 Along the cool sequestered vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet ev^n these bones from insult to protect^ 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd 
80 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic m^oralist to die. 

85 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prej^, 
This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, 
■ Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
90 Some pious drops the closing eje requires ; 
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Xature cries, 
Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead. 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
95 If chance, by lonely Contemplation led. 

Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, — 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

''Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
100 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn : 



30 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

^There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch. 
And pore upon the brook that babbles hj, 

105 ^^Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; 
Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn. 
Or crazM with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

^^One morn I missM him on the customed hill, 
110 Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 
Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
]^or up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

^^The next, with dirges due in sad array. 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him 
borne : — 
115 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn/^ 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, 

A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: 
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
120 And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send ; 

He gave to Misery all he had, a tear. 

He gained from Heav'n (^twas all he wisVd) a 
friend. 



GRAY'S ELEGY 31 

125 Xo farther seek his merits to disclose^ 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 

ELEGY WEITTEN IN A COUNTEY CHUECHYAED. 

NOTES. 

Line 1. Gray himself annotated this line by quoting an ex- 
quisite passage from the opening of the eighth canto of Dante's 
Pwgatorio: 

Squilla di lontano, 
Che paia il giorno pianger che si muore. 

The translation of the whole passage is : " 'Twas now the hour 
. . . that pierces the new pilgrim with love, if from afar he hears 
the chimes which seem to mourn for the dying day." 

Curfew: From "couvre-feu" : a bell rung during the middle age?s 
about eight o'clock, to bid people cover their fires and put out 
their lights. A few years ago, the curfew could still be heard in 
some parts of England. 

2. Wind: Another reading is "winds," but "wind" is better. 
Gray wants us to see the cattle meandering over the meadow, as 
their habit is when homeward-bound, rather than going in a 
straight file. 

Lea: An old word for meadow. 

3. Why did Gray use so many long o's? E. g., "tolls," "lowing,'* 
"slowly," "homeward." 

5. Glimmering: This is the only time that Gray uses this 
word, though at one other point he has "glimmerings." "Glitter- 
ing," on the other hand, is a great favorite with him. 

6. What is the subject of "holds"? Watch Gray's habit with 
regard to inversions. 

8. As the darkness grows, we begin to hear more than we see. 
Note the drone of the beetle, the "drowsy tinkling" of far cow- 
bells, the hooting owl. Gray, like Wordsworth, knew how many 
sounds that would escape attention in daylight seem, as dusk 
gathers, to fill while they do not Interrupt the silence. 

13. Yew-tree's shade: Yews are common in English church- 
yards. Compare Tennyson's In Memoriam, Canto II : 

Old Yew, which graspest at the stones 
That name the underlying dead, 
Thy fibres net the dreamless head, 

Thy roots are wrapt about the bones. 



32 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

O not for thee the glow, the bloom, 

Who changest not in any gale, 

Nor branding summer suns avail 
To touch thy thousand years of gloom. 

Perhaps the finest yews in English poetry are Wordsworth's • 
"Fraternal Four of Borrowdale," in Yeiv-Trees — 

A pillared shade. 
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, 
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged 
Perennially, — beneath whose sable roof 
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked 
With unrejoicing berries,' — ghostly Shapes 
May meet at noon-tide ; Fear and trembling Hope, 
Silence and Foresight ; Death the Skeleton 
And Time the Shadow. 

16. Rude, in the sense of "humble," "low," "uncivilized," "un- 
polished." 

17. Note how the sounds of this lovely stanza contrast with 
those that preceded. Gray presents his dawn, like his twilight, 
through sound rather than sight impressions. 

Paraphrase incense-'breatJiing . The word was absent from an 
early version. What do we gain from it? 

21. Compare with the picture suggested in this stanza that 
elaborated by Burns in The Goiter's Saturday isiglit. Burns used 
the next stanza but one as a motto for his poem. 

22. Ply her evening care: "Whether the phrase be good or bad, 
it is the kind of diction against which Wordsworth vigorously 
protested. When he had occasion to describe a similar scene, he 
wrote : 

She I cherished turned her wheel 
Beside an English fire." — Wattrous. 

It is good exercise to go through the Elegy distinguishing the 
places where Gray uses the concrete language native to poetry 
from those In which he slips into the generalized and abstract 
speech common to his age. 

26. Glehe: "The cultivated land belonging to a parish church 
or ecclesiastical benefice." 

27. Drive their team afield: See Milton's Lycidas, line 27. 
29. Do you like the personifications? 

33. The boast of heraldry: The pride of rank. Birth, force, 
beauty, and wealth are of course four things most valued by the 
world : they lead to glory as a climax. 

35. Awaits is often printed "await." But Gray wrote the word 



GEAY'S ELEGY: NOTES . 33 

as in the text. He was steeped in Milton and had learned from 
his master a love of inversions. 

36. This is the passage quoted by General Wolfe on his way to 
take Quebec and die : ''For two full hours the procession of boats, 
borne on the current, steered silently down the St. Lawrence. The 
stars were visible, but the night was moonless and sufficiently 
dark. The general was in one of the foremost boats, and near 
him was a young midshipman, John Robison, afterwards professor 
of natural philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. He used to 
tell in his later life how Wolfe, with a low voice, repeated Oray^s 
Elegy in a Country Churchyard to the officers about him. Probably 
it was to relieve the intense strain of his thoughts. Among the 
rest was the verse which his own fate was soon to illustrate : 
'The paths of glory lead but to the grave.' 'Gentlemen,' he said as 
his recital ended, 'I would rather have written those lines than 
take Quebec' None were there to tell him that the hero is greater 
than the poet." Parkman's Montcalm and Wolfe, II, 285. 

This story has lately been investigated and substantiated. 

39. Fretted: A fret is an architectural ornament, made by 
carving, cutting or embossing. 

41. Storied: "Storied windows richly dight." II Penseroso. 

Stained glass picturing stories, from saint-legend or scripture. 

43. Provoke the silent dust: Provoke in the etymological sense 
of "call forth." 

51. Rage: What sort of ''rage" deserves the epithet "noble"? 
Gray broods more calmly over the possible waste of genius entailed 
by "chill penury" than we do today. 

52. Genial may mean "warm, kindly," or "native, inborn." 
53-56. Platitudes, but perfectly put. 

57. There is an interesting early version to this stanza. Gray, 
fine classical scholar that he was, first wrote : 

Some village Cato, who. with dauntless breath, 
The little Tyrant of his fields withstood, 

Some mute inglorious TuUy here may rest. 
Some Caesar guiltless of his country's blood. 

The change to the English names was a bold act in those days 
of literary convention. It gives much more reality to this picture 
of an English Churchyard. The new form has an added force 
when we realize that Hampden, the patriot of the days of Charles I, 
lived in the county of the Churchyard, and that Milton finished his 
Paradise Lost only a few miles away. Gray's allusion to Cromwell 
reflects the general attitude of the eighteenth century. It was not 
till Carlyle wrote that Cromwell came to be appreciated at his 
true value. 



34 SHOKTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

It would be well for the student to compare the ancients of the 
first version with the moderns of the second and to explain why in 
each case one name could fill the place of the other. 

61. Here begins a long periodic sentence, quite in the Latin 
manner. But the continuity between stanzas affords a pleasant 
variety to the ear. 

71. Gray is thinking of the adulation given to noble or royal 
patrons by literature. Cf. the mass of flattering verse addressed 
to Queen Elizabeth. At this time, the system of patronage was 
dying hard. See Johnson's Letter to Lord Chesterfield. 

In Gray's first manuscript, the poem continued with the four 
following stanzas, with which, as Mason, Gray's friend, tells us, 
it was meant to conclude. Note how carefully Gray wove the 
phrases w^hich he liked best in these lines into the final version : 

The thoughtless world to majesty may bow, 

Exalt the brave, and idolize success ; 
But more to innocence their safety owe. 

Than pow'r or genius e'er conspired to bless. 

And thou who mindful of th' unhonor'd dead 
Dost in these notes their artless tale relate, 

By night and lonely contemplation led 
To wander in the gloomy walks of fate ; 

Hark, how the sacred calm, that breathes around, 
Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease : 

In still small accents whisp'ring from the ground, 
A grateful earnest of eternal peace. 

No more, with reason and thyself at strife. 
Give anxious cares and endless wishes room ; 

But through the cool sequester'd vale of life 
Pursue the silent tenor of thy doom. 

73. Far from the madding croiod's ignohle strife: Madding means 
not maddening, but acting madly. 

76. Tenor: From the Latin tenor, a holding-on. 

81. There is a mis-spelled epitaph on a tomb-stone under the 
very yew pointed out as standing in Gray's time in the grave-yard 
of Stoke Pogis, which is the scene of the Elegy. 

86. Pleasing anxious: Note the fine epitome of human experi- 
ence in these two words. 

93. The abrupt turn at this point gives a new and personal 
interest to the generalizations of the poem. But Gray's reticence 



GEAY^S ELEGY: NOTES 35 

still preserves a little veil by his device of apostrophizing himself 
in the third person. 

95. Chance: Perchance. 

97. The Hoary-headed sicain walks out of an eighteenth-century 
pastoral, not out of a real village. Wordsworth would never have- 
used this phrase. 

99. See Paradise Lost, V. 429. 

100. After this stanza, in the first version, followed four lines : 
it is hard to see why they were omitted, since, as Mason says^ 
they have "the same sort of Doric delicacy which charms us 
peculiarly in this part of the poem," and as he also points out^ 
they complete the account of the poet's day : 



Him have we seen the greenwood side along, 
While o'er the heath we hied, our labour done, 

Oft as the woodlark pip'd her farewell song, 
With wistful eyes pursue the setting sun. 

101. If any proof were needed that Gray has himself in mind in 
this pathetic portrait of the young poet, it may be found in the- 
following passage from a letter written by him to Walpole in 
September, 1737. The wood described is that containing the famous 
Burnham beeches : 

"I have at the distance of half a mile through a green lane, a 
forest (the vulgar call it a common) all my own, at least as good 
as so, for I spy no human thing in it but myself. It is a little 
chaos of mountains and precipices. . . . Both vale and hill 
are covered with most venerable beeches, and other very reverend 
vegetables, that, like most other ancient people, are always dream- 
ing out their old stories to the winds. . . 

"At the foot of one of these squats ME; (I, II Penseroso) and 
there grow to a trunk the whole morning." 

111. Another^ day, not person. 

116. Here came, in the original version, an omitted stanza which 
almost everyone wishes that Gray had retained ; for there is none 
more beautiful in the Elegy. His reason for leaving it out was to- 
have the Epitaph follow directly the invitation to read. But he 
hesitated, constantly inserting the stanza and then omitting it 
again, so that Mr. Gosse says that we need not regard it as finally 
cancelled : 

There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year. 
By hands unseen are show'rs of violets found ; 

The redbreast loves to build and warble there, 
And little footsteps lightly print the ground. 



36 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

119. Fair Science: Gray habitually uses Science in the sense of 
learning or knowledge. See his Ode on a Distant Prospect of 
Eton College, line 3 : 

Where grateful Science still adores 
Her Henry's holy shade. 

128. Do you agree with some critics who find the Epitaph more 
frigid and artificial than the rest of the poem? Or does it touch 
you? 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



37 



OLIA'EE GOLDSMITH. 1728—1774. 



It was in a good year for English letters that Oliver 
Goldsmith was born: for in this year Pope published 
his Dunciad, Thomson his poem on Spring, and Gay his 
Beggars' Opera, Goldsmith, unlike the three poets jnst 
mentioned, was an Irishman. His father was a poor, 
unworldly, and gentle Protestant clergyman. The boy, 
until he was seventeen, lived in the country. He was 
thought to be a dull child, and the smallpox disfigured 
his face so that he remained to the end of his life 
unusually ugly. He attended Trinity College, Dublin: 
Burke was there at the same time, but the two youths 
did not know each other. Goldsmith was not happy in 
his college life, but he took his degree in 1749, lowest 
in the list. He knocked about for a few years : studied 
medicine at the University of Edinburgh, and later at 
Leyden: and wandered over the Continent, penniless, 
and making his way by various devices, much as stu- 
dents in the middle ages used to do. Sometimes he 
earned his passage by flute-playing. He has given a 
pretty account in The Traveller of the sprightly French 
peasants dancing to the music of the strolling Irish 
player : 

And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still, 
But mockeil all tune, and marr 'd the dancers ' skill, 
Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, 
And dance, forgetful of the noon-tide houri 
39 



40 SHOETEK ENGLISH POEMS 

At twenty-seven^ Goldsmith settled down in London 
for the remainder of his life. He had a doctor's degree ; 
but it was as a man of letters that he picked np a 
precarious living. London was at this time fnll of 
authors. A large reading public ha'd grown np during 
the eighteenth centur}^^ so that writers were escaping 
from their old thraldom to rich patrons and growing 
able to support themselves independentl}^ But the task 
was no easy one, and the best writers of the day, unless, 
like Gray, they held an academic position, were likely 
to know a hard struggle. 'No one struggled harder than 
Goldsmith. Beneath an indolent exterior he concealed 
an immense power of work, as anyone who reads the long 
list of his hack writings can see. He vras always care- 
lessly generous and he lived from hand to mouth: but 
no one could call him lazy. Like most w^riters of the 
day, he began by writing for the numerous periodicals, 
which, following the fashion set by Addison and Steele, 
were the chief literary tj^pe then current. It was not 
long' before some of these papers, collected later under 
the title Tlie Citizen of the ]YorId, made a hit. They 
were an entertaining study of English life from the 
point of view of an imaginary visitor from China: a 
device revived in our own day by Mr. Lowes-Dickenson 
iu his Letters of a Chinese Official. Goldsmith was 
already favourably known by an Inquinj into the State 
of Polite Learning in Europe, published in 1759. And 
now, when he w^as only a little over thirty years old, he 
formed the acquaintance, soon to ripen into friendship, 
of the burly and lovable dictator of English letters with 
whom his name is always associated, — Dr. Johnson. 
Johnson was the centre of the literary life of LondoUe 



OLIVEE GOLDSMITH 41 

The doings of the brilliant group in which Goldsmith 
played a part secondary only to his own is chronicled 
for all time by his biographer, Boswell; to the pages of 
the immortal biographer and to the other memoirs of 
the period, the student must turn for an inimitably vivid 
record of the personality and ways, the speech, the tastes, 
the habits of those good comirades and great men, over 
whose converse everyone loves to linger, — Sir Joshua 
Reynolds, Burke, Garrick, Goldsmith. Here we can only 
chronicle the story, told by Johnson himself, how late in 
the year 176-i Goldsmith in great distress sent for John- 
son, having been arrested for rent: how Johnson bore 
away a manuscript novel, called The Vicar of Wakefield, 
sold it for sixty pounds, — three hundred dollars, — and 
set his friend free. The price was little for that delight- 
ful work: yet the fact that Johnson could secure such 
a sum proves that Goldsmith had already a certain 
reputation. 

More prosperous days came later. Many of the ablest 
men in the eighteenth century were unhappy: several, 
including Gray, Collins, Cowper, and Johnson himself, 
were over-shadowed by mental disease. But Goldy, as 
the great Doctor called him, was apparently a fairly 
happy man, who enjoyed his friends, his trips into the 
country and to the Continent, and not least the innocent 
personal vanities which are mercilessly recorded for us 
in contemporary accounts. He achieved distinction in 
one line of letters after another. First known as a 
light essa}ast, his poem The Traveller, published in 
1764, when he was thirtj^-six years old, gave him a lead- 
ing position among writers of verse: his novel. The 
Vicar of Wakefield, published in 1766, found its way 



42 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

at once to people's hearts: and his two dramas^ Tlie 
Good'Natured Man (1767) and She Stoops to Conquer 
(1771), had a charm that still holds the stage. Gold- 
smith was a blunderer in social converse, and fnnn)^ 
stories are told of his awkwardness and simplicity. Yet he 
had on occasion a pretty wit of his own, and if people 
laughed at him, they loved him. When news came of 
his death, Burke burst into tears and Eeynolds painted 
no more that day. "Let not his frailties be remem- 
hered : he was a very great man,'' said Dr. Johnson. 
■^Trailties" he had in abundance, but his instincts were 
pure and gay, his spirit was sensitive to all fine things, 
his whole nature, in a worldly age, was unworldly, ten- 
der, and sincere. In that famous group there is no 
ether man who appeals so w^armly to the affections. 

II. 

Goldsmith is one of the most charming and versatile 
of English writers. Great writers usually do one thing 
supremely well. Shakespeare wrote dramas, Shelley 
lyrics, Thackeray novels. Goldsmith did many things : 
none supremely, all delightfully. We need not speak 
of the hack work he conscientiously performed, the 
History of England, the compilations of scientific infor- 
mation : putting these aside, how much remains ! Gold- 
smith's essays, especially those collected as The Citizen 
of the World, are the most graceful writing of that 
order between Addison and Lamb : his two dramas are, 
with the exception of the plays of Sheridan, the most 
living comedies in an undramatic age: The Vicar of 
Wal'cfield is an idyll that has become a classic : and the 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 43 

two companion poems, The Deserted Village and The 
Traveller, give him an assured place among English 
poets. 

Goldsmith wrote in the middle of the eighteenth 
century. The men who carried on the pseudo-classic tradi- 
tions were his contemporaries; so too were the leaders 
of the romantic revolt. Gray, Collins, Dr. Percy of the 
Reliques, and Horace Walpole. The great novelists, 
Eichardson, (for whom he was once proofreader) Field- 
ing, and Smollett, had immediately preceded him. The 
stars of Gibbon, Hume, and Adam Smith were rising. 
For the Eomantic school Goldsmith had no liking, and 
he adhered stoutly to old forms: but nevertheless the 
new spirit is in his work. True, it shows no trace of 
that awakening imaginative passion memorable in the 
poems of Gray and Collins. Goldsmith's imagination 
was weak: his subjects were drawn from what he had 
observed or experienced in the flesh, and when, as in The 
Citizen of the World, he spins a thread of story out of 
pure fantasy, it is laughable to a degree. But if deficient 
in imagination, his work is redolent of feeling. It is 
emotion of that purest t3^pe in which tears and laughter 
blend, which makes The Vicar of Wakefield a limpid 
source of refreshment, whether to a Goethe or to a little 
school-girl. Warm sympathy mingles with keen powers 
of observation in The Traveller, a poem that records the 
impressions of different nations received by Goldsmith 
in his youthful travels. His comedies are provocative 
of hearty laughter, but the laughter is innocent and 
loving, not barbed with a sneer like the laughter of 
Swift or Pope. 

It is humor indeed that saves his sentiment from 



44 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

sentimentality^ and it is largely humor that enables ns 
to claim Goldsmith as one of the pioneers of literary 
realism. His realism is not sustained. Sweet Auburn 
may be a true village, but the inhabitants wend their 
way to a country of fantasy. The plot of The Vicar of 
Wakefield is full of harmless conventions; nor is the 
joyous world of the comedies quite the actual world. 
Yet there is evident in all Goldsmith's writings the 
instinctive quest of simplicity and truth. He really 
prefers the Vicar of Wakefield for a hero to any of 
the fine folk who move in stately minuet through the 
literature of the age of Queen Anne. He was in a sense 
a man of the world ; his essays attest a keen if not pro- 
found gift of social criticism (as in the entertaining 
panegyric of the beauty of the ladies of China as com- 
pared with those of England) ; 3^et he was never worldly. 
His books evince a nature of rare delicacy, in which the 
keynote is a gentle sincerity that charms us still. Many 
eighteenth century writers seem successfully to hide 
themselves when they write : if it were not for Boswell, 
who would know Dr. Johnson ? Goldsmith, on the con- 
trary, revealed himself, and the man he reveals is one 
whom everyone must love. 

III. 

The Deserted Village, published in 1770, has always 
been the most popular of Goldsmith^s poems, just be- 
cause it is the one in which his heart speaks most 
clearly. The companion-poem, The Traveller, is full 
of general statements, aptly put, about great nations 
and different racial types. The Deserted Village lingers 
fondlv over the fate of one little villasfe such as he loved 



OLIVEB GOLDSMlTli 45 

when a boy. It may not possess the highest qualities of 
poetry: but it is written in English beautiiuliy pure; 
it is full of feeling and of gentle humorous wisdom; 
it gives us delightful sketches of innocent country life 
*and of two or three quaint village people; and with all 
its quiet tone^ it is aflame with a noble passion for social 
justice and a nne^ hot sympathy with the wrongs of 
the poor. 

Let us first note the form of the poem. In the 
preface to Tlie Traveller Goldsmith says: "AYhat criti- 
cisms have we not heard of late^ in favour of blank 
verse, Pindaric odes, choruses, anapests, and iambics, 
alliterative care, and happy negligence V^ It happened 
that Gray had recently published his Pindarnc Odes, 
and that discussion had indeed been rife regarding the 
advisability of enlarging the borders of poetic stj^e. 
Goldsmith was a conservative so far as the metrical 
form of his poems is concerned. He adhered to the 
chief poetic tradition of his century in using the so- 
called heroic couplet which had been brought to perfection 
by Dryden and Pope and which had for more than one 
generation driven all free movement of poetic feeling 
out of the field in favor of ''a wit all see-saw between 
That and This/^ We may question whether the couplet, 
with its demand for epigrammatic conciseness, was the 
best possible vehicle for the sympathetic picture of vil- 
lage life which Goldsmith desired to present: but he 
draws from his measure, to a certain degree, effects of a 
new order. His treatment is less brilliant than spon- 
taneous. Pope^s couplets are chiselled like a cameo . 
Goldsmith's flow quietly, like his own ^"^glassy'^ and 
^^never- failing broof between their careful banks. Gold- 



46 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

smith has more touches of pure poetry and fewer rhetor- 
ical figures. Pope could no more have written the line 
^^Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn'^ than 
Goldsmith could have described the toilette of Belinda; 
If we have fewer antitheses and epigrams in Goldsmith^ 
however^ we have a like perfection of finish within the 
limits of the line or couplet^ a like search for condensa- 
tion and for classical precision of outline. Another age 
was to break loose from tradition altogether and to draw 
from the couplet a music fresh and strange. Compare 
these four well-known lines from The Deserted Village 
with the passage from Keats's Sleep and Poetry which 
follows : 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form 
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, 
Though round its breast the-rolling clouds are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Yes, in spite of all, 
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall 
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, 
Trees young and old, sprouting a shady boon 
For simple sheep. 

!N"ote how great the gain to the modern ear from the 
freedom and variety with which Keats's music overflows 
the ends of lines. But no one was writing in this way in 
Goldsmith^s time. He made a singularly perfect use of 
the instrument ready to his hand^ and it is profitable 
to study his diction line by line, noting how each word 
is charged with significance and each phrase adds to 
the luminous completeness of the w^hole. Bartlett in 
his Familiar Quotations gives no less than seventy-four 
lines from Tlie Deserted Village, This surprising figure 



OLIVEE GOLDSMITH 47 

shows how thoroughly England has made the poem 
her own. 

The description of Auburn is full of reminiscences of 
Lissoy, the Irish village where Goldsmith lived as a 
child. People said then that the eviction of the peasants 
in obedience to the cruel greed of the landlord might 
occur across the Channel, but could not happen in 
England. Goldsmith, as may be seen in the graceful 
dedication of the poem to Sir Joshua Eeynolds, insisted 
that it could : but without doubt dim memories of what 
happened in sorrowful Erin affected his ostensible pic- 
tures of English life. The portraits of the Parson and 
the Schoolmaster, which give the poem so much of its 
charm, are Irish portraits : the Parson was drawn partly 
from his father, partly from the beloved brother to whom 
he dedicated The Traveller, and who, like the Parson in 
the poem, was, he tells us, "passing rich on forty pounds 
a year.^^ This description is one of the best character 
studies in English verse. It is curiously like Chaucer's 
account of his poor parson in the Prologue to The Can- 
terbury Tales; and every student should compare the 
two passages and note with interest how the humble 
service of the People in the Xame of God has produced 
the same types from age to age. There is more humor 
in the portrait of the Schoolmaster, Goldsmith's old 
teacher in Lissoy, — yet this picture, too, is full of S3'm- 
pathy. Indeed, the sympathy in all these studies puts 
this poem in quite a different class from the clever 
character-sketching in verse practiced by Pope and Dry- 
den. It is interesting to compare such a study as Zimri 
in Dryden's Absalom and Achitophel, or Atticus in 
Pope's Epistle to Dr, Arbuthnot with these loving verses 



48 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

of Goldsmitli^s. Drj^den and Pope point their couplets 
with venom. Goldsmith^s laugh is always affectionate. 
Does satire or SA^mpathy^ criticism or affection^ penetrate 
to a deeper understanding of character? All literature 
and all life suggest the question. 

Poetry^ said Milton^ should be ^'^simple^ sensuous, and 
passionate/^ and ^Yordsworth adds that poetry can only 
exist where ^^it can find an atmosphere of sensation in 
which to move its wings.^^ Goldsmith, like most men of 
his day, was careless of this truth, and in parts of his 
poem abstractions ring cold on the ear. Yet even in 
these, though the poetry may flag, the thought and spirit 
are fine; the wide social outlook bespeaks a man not only 
of tender heart but of clear, grave intellectual vision. 
Goldsmith may have been hazy about his economic facts 
in detail : but that absorption of the land of England by 
great estates, which so moved his indignation, is a crying 
evil which still strikes the eye even of the tourist, and 
which is even now vigorously demanding redress through 
political struggle. Perhaps the poet's evicted immi- 
grants never made their way to those dimlj^-conceived 
regions ^Svliere wild Altama murmurs to their woe.'^ 
But there were plenty of evictions in Ireland, and today 
many a depopulated village in southern Italy shows con- 
ditions not literally similar nor due to the same cause as 
those described by Goldsmith, yet vividly suggested by 
his lines. It is with a fine turn at the end that the poet 
sees, no longer the poor simple people, but the rural 
virtues themselves, sadly leaving the land where luxury 
and greed have become masters: some of his ringing 
couplets may well sound in our American ears today, 
as he tells us 



OLIVEE GOLDSMITH 49 

How wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land; 

or exclaims in noble anger, 

III fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates and men decay. 

Tlie Deserted Village, then, follows in many respects 
the pseudo-classic tradition of the eighteenth century. 
But it also marks the quickening of a new spirit. Far 
more explicitly than Gray's Elegy it shifts the centre of 
interest from court and town and the artificial society 
which Pope and Addison and the noyelists of the age 
reyelled in describing, to simple yillage life. It is suf- 
fused bj^ undisguised tenderness, and it is full of solici- 
tude for the humble, and of a social passion in which 
Goldsmith is distinctly in adyance of his generation and 
a precursor of the school that is to the fore today in 
political economy. We can trace in it but vaguely that 
rebirth of beauty and of wonder already dimly prophe- 
sied in the poetry of Gray and of Collins : but we do find 
in it a harbinger of that poetry of personal sentiment 
and of democratic sympathies which was to be one of 
the glories of the coming age. The Deserted Village 
points the way to Burns's The Cotter s Saturday Night, 
to Wordsworth's Michael and Leech-Gatherer, and to all 
those interpretations of the beauty and pathos in the 
liyes of the poor which were to form a distinctive feature 
alike of the poetry and the fiction of the nineteenth 
century. 



50 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

DEDICATIOX. 
TO SIR JOSHUA EEYXOLDS. 

Dear Sir, — I can have no expectations, in an address 
of this kind^ either to add to your reputation, or to 
establish my own. You can gain nothing from my 
admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you 
are said to excel; and I may lose much by the severity 
of your judgment^ as few have a juster taste in poetry 
than you. Setting interest, therefore, aside, to which 
I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at 
present in following my affections. The only dedication 
I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him 
better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit 
me to inscribe this poem to you. 

How far you may be pleased with the versification 
and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not 
pretend to inquire; but I know you will object (and 
indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in 
the opinion), that the depopulation it deplores is no- 
where to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only 
to be* found in the poet's own imagination. To this I 
can scarce make any other answer than that I sincerely 
believe what I have written; that I have taken all pos- 
sible pains, in my country excursions, for these four or 
five years past, to be certain of what I allege ; and that 
all my views and inquiries have led me to believe those 
miseries real, which I here attempt to display. But this 
is not the place to enter into an inquiry, whether the 
country be depopulating or not ;the discussion would take 
up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, an in- 
different politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, 
when I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem. 

In regretting the depopulation of the country, I 
inveigh against the increase of our luxuries, and here . 
also I expect the shout of modern politicians against me. 
For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion 



THE DESEBTED VILLAGE 51 

to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advan- 
tages; and all the wisdom of antiquity, in that par- 
ticular, as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a 
professed ancient on that head, and continue to think 
those luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many 
vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been 
undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out of late 
on the other side of the question, that, merely for the 
sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish 
to be in the right. — I am, clear Sir, 

Your sincere Friend and ardent Admirer, 

Oliver Goldsmith. 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain. 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid. 
And parting summei^s lingering blooms delayed; 

5 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please. 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 
Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 
How often have I paused on every charm, 

10 The shelter^ cot, the cultivated farm, 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
The decent church that topt the neighboring hill,. 
The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade. 
For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 

15 How often have I blest the coming day. 
When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
And all the village train, from labor free. 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; 
WTiile many a pastime circled in the shade, 

20 The young contending as the old surveyed ; 
x\nd many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. 



53 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round; 

And still, as each repeated pleasure tird, 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; 
25 The dancing pair that simply sought renown. 

By holding out, to tire each other down; 

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the place; 

The bashful virgin^s sidelong looks of love, 
30 The matron^s glance that would those looks reprove : 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, 

With sweet succession, taught e^en toil to please; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed. 

These were thy charms, — but all these charms are fled. 

35 Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn ! 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant^s hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green: 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 

40 And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
Xo more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But chok'd with sedges works its weedy way; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest. 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 

45 Amidst thy desert-walks the lapwing flies, 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand 

50 Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; 



THE DESEKTED VILLAGE 5-5 

Princes and lords may flourish^ or may fade : 
A breath can make them^ as a breath has made, 
sBnt a bold peasantry, their country^s pride, 
When once destroy^, can never be supplied. 

A time there was, ere England^s griefs began, 
AVhen every rood of ground maintained its man; 
For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 
Just gave what life required, but gave no more ; 
His best companions, innocence and health; 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered; traders unfeeling train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; 

5 Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose; 
And every want to opulence allied. 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 

Those calm desires that ask^d but little room. 
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
Liv'd in each look, and brightened all the green: 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore. 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

'5 Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
xlmidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 

50 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
Eemembrance wakes, with all her busy train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain^ 



54 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

In all ray wanderings round this world of care, 

In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
85 1 still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 

Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; 

To husband out lifers taper at the close, 

And keep the flame from wasting by repose; 

I still had hopes — for pride attends us still — 
so Amidst the sw^ains to show my book-learned skill, 

Around my fire an evening group to draw, 

And tell of all 1 felt, and all I saw; 

And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue 

Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 
95 I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 

Here to return, — and die at home at last. 

blest retirement! friend to life's decline, 
Eetreat from care, that never must be mine, 
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these 

100 A youth of labor with an age of ease ; 

Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
And, since ^t is hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep. 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 

105 Xo surly porter stands in guilty state. 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate: 
But on he moves to meet his latter end. 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; • 
Bends to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, 

110 While resignation gently slopes the way ; 
And, all his prospects brightening to the last. 
His heaven commences ere the world be past. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE 55 

Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 

115 There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from below; 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
The sober herd that low^d to meet their j^oung; 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool; 

120 The playful children just let loose from school ; 
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 
And fiird each pause the nightingale had made. 

125 But now the sounds of population fail, 
iSTo cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
Xo busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled. 
All but yon widow' d, solitary thing 

130 That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 
She, wretched matron, — forc'd in age, for bread. 
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, 
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn — 

135 She only left of all the harmless train. 
The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd. 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild, 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
140 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
Eemote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change, his place ; 



56 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

145 Unpractis'd he to f awn^ or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learrrd to prize, 
]\Iore skilled to raise tlie wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train, 

150 He chid their wanderings, but relievVl their pain ; 
The long-remem])er^d beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; 

155 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away; 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done. 
Shouldered his crutch, and shewYl how fields were won. 
Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, 

160 And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan. 
His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side : 

165 But in his duty prompt at every call, 

He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all. 
And as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies. 
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, 

170 Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the ^y^lj. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid. 
And sorrow, guilt, and pa»in, by turns dismay'd. 
The reverend champion stood. At his control. 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 



THE DESEKTED VILLAGE 57 

175 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorned the venerable place; 

Truth from his lips prevaiPd with double sway, 
180 And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 

The service past, around the pious man, 

AYith steadj^ zeal, each honest rustic ran; 

Even children followed, with endearing wile. 

And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. 
135 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest. 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest; 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given. 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven: 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
190 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 

195 There, in his noisy mansion, skilFd to rule. 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view; 
I knevv^ him well, and every truant knew: 
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace 

200 The day's disasters in his morning face ; 

Full well they laugh' d, with counterfeited glee 
At all tiis jokes, for many a joke had he : 
Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd, 

205 Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 



58 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

The love he bore to learning was in fanlt. 

Tlie village all declared how much he knew; 

^Twas certain he conld write, and cipher, too ; 

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
210 And even the story ran that he could gauge ; 

In arguing, too, the parson ownM his skill, 

For even though vanquished he could argue still; 

While words of learned length and thundering sound 

Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; 
215 And still they gaz^d, and still the wonder grew 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very spot. 
Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. 
Xear yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 

220 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye. 

Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, 
Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, 
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound. 
And news much older than their ale went round. 

225 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 

The parlor splendors of that festive place : 
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor. 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; 
The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, 

230 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 
The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose; 
The hearth, except when winter chilFd the day. 
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay, 

235 While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, 
Eang'd o'er the chimne)^, glistened in a row. 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE 59 

Vain, transitoiy splendors ! could not all 

Eeprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? 

Obscure it sinks^, nor shall it more impart 
240 An hour^s importance to the poor man^s heart. 

Thither no more the peasant shall repair 

To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 

Xo more the farmer^s news, the barber^s tale, 

Xo more the woodman^s ballad shall prevail; 
245 Xo more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 

Eelax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; 

The host himself no longer shall be found 

Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; 

Xor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 
250 Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain. 

These simple blessings of the lowly train; 

To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 

One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 
255 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play. 

The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; 

Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 

Unenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd. 

But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
260 AVith all the freaks of wanton wealth arraj^'d, — 

In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. 

The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; 

And even while fashion's brightest arts decoj^, 

The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 

265 Ye friends to truth, j^e statesmen, who survey 
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand 



60 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Between a splendid and a happy land. 

Prond swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 

270 And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 
Hoards e^en beyond the miser^s wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains : this wealth is but a name, 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 

275 Xot so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
Takes up a space that many poor supplied; 
Space for his lake, his parkas extended bounds, 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 

280 Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth; 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; 
Around the world each needful product flies. 
For all the luxuries the world supplies. 

285 While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure, all 
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female, unadornM and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, 

290 Xor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 

But when those charms are past, for charms are frail. 
When, time advances, and when lovers fail, 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless. 
In all the glaring impotence of dress: 

295 Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed. 
In nature^s simplest charms at first array'd; 
But, verging to decline, its splendors rise, 
Its vistas skike, its palaces surprise; 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE 61 

Wliile^ scourged by famine from the smiling land^ 
300 The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; 
And while he sinks^ without one arm to save^ 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then^ ah! where shall poverty reside, 

To ^scape the pressure of contiguous pride? 
305 If to some common^s fenceless limits stray' d, 

He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 

Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 

And even the bare-worn common is denied. 

If to the city sped, what waits him there? 
310 To see profusion that he must not share ; 

To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd, 

To pamper luxurj^, and thin m^ankind; 

To see those joys the sons of pleasure know 

Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
315 Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade. 

There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; 

Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, 

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 

The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, 
320 Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ; 

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square. 

The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 

Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! 

Sure these denote one universal joy ! . 
325 Are these thy serious thoughts ? Ah ! turn thine eyes 

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 

She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest. 

Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; 

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. 



63 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

330 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 
Xow lost to all — her friends^ her virtue fled — 
'Near her betrayer^s door she lays her head^ 
And^ pinched with cold^ and shrinking from the shower, 
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 

315 When idly first, ambitious of the town, 

She left her wheel, and robes of country brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? 
Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 
340 At proud men^s doors they ask a little bread. 

Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes between. 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 

345 Far difl'erent there from all that charmed before. 
The various terrors of that horrid shore: 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
x4nd fiercely shed intolerable day; 
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 

350 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd, 
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; 
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; 

355 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey 
And savage men more murderous still than they; 
While oft in v/hirls the mad tornado flies. 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far different these from every former scene, 

360 The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 



THE DESEKTED VILLAGE 63 

The breezy covert of the warbling grove^ 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day 
That caird them from their native walks away ; 

365^Yhen the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last. 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
For seats like these beyond the western main; 
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 

370 Eeturn^d and wept, and still returned to weep ! 
The good old sire the first prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others^ woe; 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 

B7o His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 
The fond companion of his helpless j^ears, 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
And left a lover^s for a father^s arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 

J80 And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose; 
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear 
And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear; 
"Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

185 Luxury! thou curst by Heaven^s decree. 
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy. 
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 



64 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

390 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 

At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe; 
Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, 
Down, dowji they sink, and spread a ruin round. 

395 Even now the devastation is begun. 
And half the business of destruction done; 
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
I see the rural Virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail 

400 That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale, 
Downward they move, a melancholy band. 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 
Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, 
And kind connubial Tenderness, are there; 

405 And Piety with wishes placed above. 
And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. 
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid. 
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; 
rrnfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 

410 To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; 
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried. 
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; 
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, 
That found'st me poor at flrst, and keep'st me so; 

415 Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel. 
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! 
Farewell ! and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried. 
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. 
Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 

420 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE 65 

Still let thy voice^ prevailing over time^ 
Eedress the rigors of the inclement clime; 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain. 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; 

425 Teach him that states of native strength possest. 
Though very poor, may still be very blest; 
That traders proud empire hastes to swift decay, 
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away; 
While self-dependent power can time defy, 

430 As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 

THE DESEETED VILLAGE. 
NOTES. 

The Dedication: Sir Joshua, the great painter to whom the poem 
is dedicated in these graceful and touching words, was so pleased 
with the compliment that he painted a picture called "Resignation," 
representing an aged beggar, which was to be engraved and to 
carry the inscription : "This attempt to express a character in 
The Deserted Village is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith by his sincere 
friend and admirer, Joshua Reynolds." 

Goldsmith was wrong in his opinion that England was "depopu- 
lating," but not wrong in his general view of the land question. 
When he inveighed "against the increase of our luxuries" he may 
have been a "professed ancient" to his own time, but he was also 
a prophet of the future. Many of the greatest nineteenth century 
thinkers, Carlyle and Ruskin especially, were to make his cry the 
burden of their teaching. Today, even "modern politicians" and 
economists shout no longer against him but for him : and only the 
rash and ignorant person dares to claim that the production of 
luxuries can in the long run relieve economic distress. 

12. Decent: Akin to Latin "decus," honor, and used in its 
frequent eighteenth century sense of becoming, comely, fit. Com- 
pare Wordsworth's Prelude, Book IV, 21 : 

I saw the snow-white church upon her hill 
Sit like a throned Lady, sending out 
A gracious look all over her domain. 

24, etc. This description, although in the slightly formal manner 
of the times, presents real memories of a real village. It is quite 



66 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

different in tone from the pastoral poetry of ttie sixteenth and 
seventeenth centuries, which was usually written by men who knew 
little of country life at first hand, but who invented a pretty 
dream-land where the manners and customs were derived rather 
from Sicily than from England, and where the fruits of civilization 
might be enjoyed without its pains. On the other hand, Gold- 
smith does not present his village nearly as vividly as Crabbe or 
Burns or Wordsworth would have done. His poem is transitional 
between the conventionality of the older pastoral and modern 
realism. 

39. One only master: In 1910, one-tenth of the inhabitants of 
England owned nine-tenths of the land: Whole villages often belong 
to the great landed estates as part of their property. See for an 
admirable description of such a village, the opening chapters of 
Trollope's novel. Dr. Thome: and for a picture of the constant 
ill-feeling between the tillers of the soil and the landed gentry, 
Charles Kingsley's Yeast. 

40. IlaJf a tillage: The land is kept for shooting, not for agri- 
culture. 

44. The holloiD-sounding 'bittern: A bittern is a kind of heron, 
a marsh-bird. 

51. Ill fares the land, etc.: Goldsmith is deeply in earnest in 
the following passage. Note the strong progressive word, "hasten- 
ing." And compare the long address of the Vicar in the nineteenth 
chapter of The Vicar of JVakefield, especially the passage begin- 
ning : "An accumulation of wealth, however, must necessarily be 
the consequence when, as at present, more riches flow in from 
external commerce than from internal industry," and ending : 
"Those, however, who are willing to move in a great man's vortex 
are only such as must be slaves, the rabble of mankind." 

"There is no wealth but life," said John Ruskin in a memorable 
epigram. And he accordingly defined the aim of political economy 
to be "The multiplication of human life at the highest standard." 

58. Maintained its man: Peasant-proprietorship is still urged 
by many thoughtful people as the solution of the land-question. 
Others prefer communal or state ownership, with carefully guarded 
methods of tenure. 

But what is the time of which Goldsmith is thinking when he says, 
"Ere England's griefs began"? Not the middle ages, with their 
system of villeinage. Not the fifteenth century, with the miseries of 
which one may read In the first book of Sir Thomas More's 
Utopia. Hardly the sixteenth century, or the seventeenth. One 
fears that it was the Saturnian Age ever dear to poetic dream. 

63. Traders unfeeling train: Note the instinctive delight of the 
poet in agriculture and his distaste for commerce. It is worth 
noting that many of the great landholders in England today made 
their money in trade. 

67. And every xcant to opulence allied: What are some of the 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE: NOTES 67 

^ants "to opulence allied" as compared with those allied to pov- 
erty? 

80. This entire line is the object of "view." 

83 This, the most touching section of the poem, is written in 
singularly pure and simple English. 

103c For him no n^retclies^ etc.: The following passage evinces 
Goldsmith's sensitiveness in a surprising way. The recoil from 
profiting by the painful labor of others is one of the best products 
of modern democracy. But here it is, in the full tide of the eighteenth 
century, felt as keenly as Ruskin could have felt it. Another 
eighteenth century worthy, the saintly American Quaker, John 
Woolman, suffered agonies from this same cause. 

114. The village murmur: Charmingly analyzed in the following 
lines. Only we should hardly today take a pensive pleasure in 
hearing, even blended with other sounds, "the loud laugh that spoke 
the vacant mind." 

Carlyle, looking down at a village from a hill-top, takes especial 
satisfaction in watching the colored smoke that spouts from cot- 
tage chimneys and suggests dinners a-cooking {Sartor Resartus). 
Is anything too homely to be proper material for poetry? Gab- 
bling geese, mooing cows, screaming children, barking dogs, none 
of them produce music. \Yhat is the secret of their charm to the 
imagination in this passage? 

129. Yon it'idoio'd solitary thing : This single figure on whom 
our eyes are now fixed anticipates the type of subject dear to 
Wordsworth in poetry and to Millet in painting. This special old 
woman has been identified by curious critics as one Catherine 
Gerarty : but really, Goldsmith need not have had any Individual 
in mind. 

142. Passing rich with forty pounds a year: "Passing" is used in. 
the sense often found in Shakespeare: the expression "passing 
strange" still seems hardly obsolete. 

In Goldsmith's dedication of The Traveller to his brother Henry, 
a clergyman in Ireland, we read that the poem "is addressed to a 
man who, despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happi- 
ness and obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year. I 
now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice." 

This whole description is most deservedly a familiar quotation. 

160, 161. Would these two lines appear admirable, do you think, 
to our modern Associated Charities? 

194. With hlossom'd furze: One of the lines that shows Gold- 
smith the poet. 

196. The village master: Identified with Thomas Byrne, famil- 
iarly known as "Paddy Byrne," an old soldier who taught school 
in Lissoy when the poet was a little boy. 

209. Terms are the terms of law-courts and universities. Tidesr 
are not tides on the sea, but seasons like Christmastide, Eastertide. 



68 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

210. Gauge: "A ganger is in some places a sworn officer, whose 
duty it is to measure the contents of hogsheads, barrels, or casks." 

220. Compare the talk at the Inn with similar scenes presented 
by Dickens and George Eliot. Old-fashioned English inns have 
furnished much delightful material to literature. 

225, etc. The following description of an author's bed-chamber 
was sent by Goldsmith to his brother some time earlier than the 
date of The Deserted Village. It is doubtless a picture of his own 
way of living in the days of his poverty. A comparison with the 
passage in the text will show the careful and minute art which 
has gone to shaping a poem so seemingly spontaneous, so easy and 
simple in movement, as The Deserted Village. Writers in the 
eighteenth century spared no pains with their lines, and the best 
of them well knew that ease and plainness in the style were no 
result of an easy-going way of writing but of deliberate effort. 

Where the Red Lion, staring o'er the way. 

Invites each passing stranger that can pay ; 

Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's black champagne, 

Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ; 

There, in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug. 

The Muse found Scroggen stretch 'd beneath a rug. 

A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray. 

That dimly show'd the state in which he lay ; 

The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; 

The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ; 

The royal game of goose was there in view, 

And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; 

The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place. 

And brave prince William show'd his lampblack face. 

The morn was cold ; he views with keen desire 

The rusty grate unconscious of a fire : 

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd, 

And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board ; 

A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 

A cap by night, — a stocking all the day ! 

232. The ticelve good rules: Portraits of King Charles, by a 
queer twist of favor become a popular hero, in those days adorned 
inns and lodgings much as portraits of Lord Byron did within liv- 
ing memory. Beneath the portrait would be engraved the Twelve 
Rules assigned to the Royal Martyr. They ran : 1. Urge no 
healths. 2. Profane no divine ordinances. 3. Touch no state 
matters. 4. Reveal no secrets. 5. Pick no quarrels. 6. Make 
no companions. 7. ^Maintain no ill opinions. 8. Keep no bad 
company. 9. Encourage no vice. 10. Make no long meal. 11. Re- 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE: NOTES 69 

peat no grievances. 12. Lay no wagers. The royal game of goose 
was a species of checkers. 

Goldsmith, for once, is less afraid of the concrete than Words- 
worth. See The Prelude, Book I, 509, for a description of the Royal 
Game of Goose. 

244. The tvoodman's ballad: The woodman is the man used to 
the Vv'oods, the hunter. Perhaps he sang a ballad of Robin Hood 
and the good greenshawe. 

262. The toiling pleasure sickens info pain: Again a line that 
summarizes a whole train of thought and experience. 

265-286. Carlyle, a little over half a century later, was to say 
much the same thing with even more force. What in Goldsmith 
is admirable general statement becomes in Carlyle direct analysis : 

"The condition of England ... is justly regarded as one of 
the most ominous and withal one of the strangest ever seen in 
this world. England is full of wealth, of multifarious produce, 
supply for human want in every kind ; yet England is dying of 
inanition. With unabated bounty the land of England blooms and 
grows ; waving with yellow harvests ; thick-studded with workshops, 
industrial implements, with fifteen millions of workers : The work 
they have done is here, abundant, exuberant, on every hand of us ; 
sind behold, some baleful fiat as of Enchantment has gone forth,' 
saying, Touch it not, ye workers ; none of you can touch it, no 
man of you shall be the better for it ; this is enchanted fruit." 
Past and Present. 

287. Female: Now a vulgarism, but in good use at that time. 

295. Other great invectives against luxury may be found in 
the writings of Ruskin, Tolstoy, and William Morris. It is note- 
worthy that poets and artists are especially prominent among the 
enemies of extravagance and waste. Can you cite any instances 
in history of the process described by Goldsmith? 

308. Even the lare-icorn common: This line illustrates the 
change then going on in agricultural holdings. 

316. Artist: Artizan. 

318. The hlack gilihet: This is no fancy picture. In Goldsmith's 
time many trifling ofliences were punishable by death, and the 
gallows, with a corpse hanging from it, was still a familiar object 
on country cross-roads. Goldsmith makes clear that it was to be 
met in the city also. 

341. Shortly before this time, the philanthropist Oglethorpe, 
the founder of the State of Georgia, had welcomed a number of 
poor debtors to the colony of Georgia. This fact has worked on 
Goldsmith's imagination. But the description given here does not 
at all resemble Georgia, although the Altama is a Georgian river. 

363-384. Although there is a good deal of poetic convention- 
ality In the account of the departure of the exiles, and although 
many lines have rather a prim eighteenth century quality, the 
general feeling in this passage is sweet and sound. Similar scenes 



70 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

may be witnessed any day now in Italy. De Amicis, the Italian 
writer, in a book called On the Ocean, has an excellent and moving 
account of the departure of poor emigrants from their native land 
and of the terrors and joys of a sea-voyage to their new homes. 

395, etc. This vision of *'the rural virtues" leaving the land 
as the poor emigrants had done, presents in imaginative form the 
national catastrophe which Goldsmith has had in view throughout. 
We love best to linger on the portraits of the Parson and the 
Schoolmaster and the graceful descriptions of the happy village. 
But the poet wrote with serious purpose, using the fate of his 
Tillage to illustrate what he conceived to be a great and threat- 
ening evil. This concluding section combines his intellectual con- 
Tiction with his poetic instinct and is a fitting termination to 
both strains in the poem. 

410, etc. Goldsmith only mentions the other departing Virtues : 
but he gives ten charming lines to Poetry. He was more intimate 
perhaps with her than with the others. Do you approve of 
having Poetry put among the rural virtues? Does she really flee 
the land given over to luxury? 

418. Torno is a river dividing Sweden from Russia and falling 
into the Gulf of Bothnia. Pambamarca is a mountain near Quito. 
Goldsmith wanted a Northern and a Southern name. 

423. Aid slighted truth icith thy persuasive strain: Goldsmith's 
idea of the function of poetry may seem didactic. But it was shared 
by Shelley, who wrote in A Defense of Poetry, "The great instru- 
ment of moral good is the imagination ; and poetry administers to 
the effect by acting upon the cause." 

427. That trade's proud empire, etc.: Dr. Johnson told Boswell 
that he had written the last four lines of The Deserted Village. 
We might not have suspected this from internal evidence, but the 
stately lines are characteristic of Johnson, 



GEOKGE GOEDON, LORD BYEON 



71 



GEOEGE GOEDOX, LOED BYEOX. 



Byron was bcrn in IT 88^ a 3'ear before the Bastille 
was taken. He died in 1824:, nine years after the battle 
of "Waterloo. His life thus covered that period of politi- 
cal storms and unrest spiritual and social which in- 
aiignrated the period we live in. Goldsmith and Gray 
represent a restrained epoch that ^^stndied to be quiet/^ 
and offered few incentives to poetry. Byron^s brief life 
was passed in an age which^ perhaps on account of its 
outer excitements, proved a mighty nursing mother to 
poets. Scott^ Vrordsworth^ Coleridge^ and Southey were 
from fifteen to twenty years his senior; Shelley and 
Keats were a few years younger. Among these men 
of genius^ Byron expressed most clearly^ if not most 
deeply^ the passions of contemporary Europe. "It is 
he/^ says the Danish critic Georg Brandos^ "who sets 
the final and decisive stamp on the poetic literature of 
the age.^^ 

Byron has well been called "a revolutionary aristo- 
crat.'^ He was of an ancient line; several of his 
predecessors had led violent and disorderly lives. The 
child was born lame, and althougli he was always of 
remarkable personal beauty, this defect embittered his 
whole life. His mother, a woman of ungoverned pas- 
sions, alternately petted and abused him. She encour- 
aged him in pride of rank; when the little boy was 
told that he had succeeded to a title, he was so moved 

73 



74 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

and excited that he burst into tears. With the title 
went the estate of Xewstead Abbey; and Bvron^ when 
he was ten years old^ left Scotland^ his early home^ for 
England. Here he received his education^ first at the 
public school of Harrow^ then at Trinity College^, Cam- 
bridge. He was a careless though clever student^ an 
omnivorous reader^ a lover of sport and a singularly 
ardent friend; but his tastes were wild. In 1808 he 
received the honorary title of M. A. from his university. 

"While an undergraduate Byron had printed two little 
volumes of verse^ the second of which^ Hours of Idle- 
ness, fell into the hands of Lord Brougham^ who treated 
it severely in The Edinburgh Eevieiv, Byron was 
roused to anger^ and a year later took his revenge in 
the satirical poem English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, 
which first revealed his literary power. About the 
same time he came of age and took his seat in the 
House of Lords. Presently^ however^ he was seized 
with the impulse to travel, and betook himself with a 
friend to the Continent^ where he spent two years, visit- 
ing many countries, some of them, like Sardinia, Tur- 
key, and Greece, unfamiliar enough to satisfy his rest- 
less passion for romantic adventure. He returned to 
England in 1811 with a number of satires, which he 
valued, and a poetic record of his travels in the Spen- 
serian stanza, of which he seems to have thought lightly. 
But this record, published under the title Childe 
Harold, fascinated the English public; and, to use 
Byron^s own well-known phrase, he awoke one morn- 
ing and found himself famous. 

Byron now became for a time the idol of English 
society. His genius was in its first fervor, and he 



GEOEGE GOEDON,LOED BYEON 75 

poured from the press a series of metrical romances : 
The Waltz, The Giaour, The Bride of Abydos, The 
Corsair, Lara, The Siege of Corinth, and Parisina, 
These vivid tales benefited English literature in more 
ways than one^ for they quite eclipsed the spirited but 
less highly colored work of Scott in the same vein, and 
thus led indirectly to the writing of The Waverley 
Novels, 

In a few years sunshine changed to storm. Byron 
was a man of imregulated impulses. He had married 
in 1815 an English girl, Miss Milbanke. A year later 
she left him, and all England took her side in the 
quarrel. Byron, previously so flattered, became the ob- 
ject of universal execration and abuse. In a mood of 
smarting pride and rage, he left England, never to re- 
turn. Again he sought relief in travel: spent some 
time on the lovely Lake of Geneva, where his sorrows 
were partially soothed by the inspiration of Alpine 
scenery and the gentle fellowship of the most ethereal 
of English poets, Percy Bysshe Shelley: and finally 
settled in Venice. During these later years of his life, 
his genius found expression in a long series of poems. 
Meantime, Byron became intensely interested in the 
political agitation going on all over Europe. His 
sympathies were always with the oppressed: his maiden 
speech in the British Parliament had been in favor of 
the striking weavers of Nottingham. But English 
methods had proved too tame for the taste of a man who 
wrote contemptuously: "I have simplified my politics 
to an utter detestation of all existing governments.^^ 
Now he flung himself with energy into revolutionary 
movements on the Continent and joined the Society 



76 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

of the Carbonari^ who in Italy were conspiring against 
the hated Austrian rule. His best poems are full of 
ardor for freedom, and he described what seemed to him 
the situation of his daj^ when he wrote : 

Yetj Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying, 
Streams like a thunder cloud against the wind. 

The period immediately foUovring the battle of 
Waterloo vras deeply discouraging to all friends of lib- 
erty, and it was truly against the prevailing wind that 
the banner of freedom had to float. A monarchial re- 
action had set in and the Continental courts of Eussia, 
Austria, and Prussia had formed in 1815 what they 
called a "Holy Alliance^^ for the repression of liberal and 
revolutionary movements. Such movements, however, 
flourish in persecution. Byron, in the nineteenth 
stanza of the third canto of Childe Harold asks bitterly 
whether the despotism of Napoleon had been overthrown 
in vain, — 

Is Earth more free? 

Did natix)ns combat to make One submit; 

Or league to teach all kings due sovereignty? 

What! Shall reviving Thraldom again be 

The patched-up idol of enlightened days? 

Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we 

Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze 

And servile knees to thrones? 

But Byron not only wrote and conspired: he proved 
his earnestness by his death. The Greek war of inde- 
pendence against Turkey, which broke out in 1822, ap- 
pealed to all lovers of "The Glory that was Greece.^^ 
We hear musical echoes of the struggle in Shelley^s 



GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON" 77 

drama^ Hellas, Byron equipped a ship at his own ex-~ 
pense and sailed for tlie scene. In Greece his patience, 
sagacity^ and courage won general admiration. There 
was talk of making him king. But his death put an end 
to all such plans. He died of a fever at Missolonghi^ in 
1824^ — a martyr to the canse of that freedom he had 
sung. He was thirt3^-six years old. Much in his life had 
been reckless and wrongs but his last months^ as well as 
the nobler phases of his work, went far to make atone- 
ment. 

II. 

Until lately Byron had the greatest reputation in 
Europe of any English poet since Shakespeare. Prob- 
ably this is still true, although the Continental peoples 
are now waking to the value of "Wordsworth and Shel- 
ley. Byron^s great contemporary fame may be due to 
the fact that he was neither behind his age, as a formal- 
ist is likeW to be, nor in advance of it, as often happens 
to an idealist. He expressed it exactly, and it hailed 
the expression with rapture. As Brandes says, ^^The 
legions of the fugitives, the banished, the oppressed, the 
conspirators of every nation, kept their eyes fixed upon 
the one man who, among the universal debasement of 
intelligences and characters, stood upright. He made 
himself the mouthpiece of the dumb revolutionary in- 
dignation, which was seething in the breasts of the best 
friends and lovers of liberty in Europe.^^ 

Byron^s poems fall into clear divisions. They com- 
prise a number of lyrics ; the group of metrical romances, 
the work of his youth; the fine poem of travel, in 
Spenserian stanzas, Cliilde Harold; h^rical dramas, of 
which the best are Manfred and Cain; other dramas. 



78 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

including Marino Faliero and The Tivo Foscari; a 
group of satires^ of which The Visioii of Judgment is 
tlie finest; and finally, an unfinished epic, half roman- 
tic, half satirical in spirit, which is generally admitted 
to be his masterpiece, Don Juan. 

The varying tj^pes of his work are the expression of 
a rich nature subject to many experiences. Yet through 
them all we see one persistent impulse. It is the im- 
pulse to escape from civilization, which seemed to him, 
as to many fine spirits in those days of the post-Na- 
poleonic reaction, hopelessly repressive to lovers of free- 
dom. In his metrical romances Byron seeks to escape 
the conventionalities that galled him by dwelling on 
romantic tales of life among primitive peoples and in 
remote lands. Childe Harold records his quest for 
freedom and healing in another fashion, through com- 
munion with nature and with the human past. In 
Manfred and Cain the poet expressed the pure spirit of 
revolt, and the endeavor to flee the galling bonds of 
law and order by retreat within the recesses of an un- 
tamed spirit and by an attitude of proud defiance. 
Finally, in Don Juan, Byron, weary of all these methods, 
and pursued, to use Wordsworth's phrase, ^T)y a sense 
deathlike, of treacherous desertion, felt in that last place 
of refuge, his own soul,'' gave up the attempt to escape 
from the world he despised, and abandoned himself to it 
with sneering laughter. Here, where the romantic and 
the satiric strains in his genius flow at last together, we 
have the most distinctive and splendid expression of 
his genius. 

In all these different forms he showed the power ^^to 
exhibit, with all the force of life, a world that had 



GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYROX 79 

broken loose from its moorings." ^ Throngli his poems 
moves one gloomy figure^ ^'lorcl of himself, that heri- 
tage of woe,'^ in whose embittered reflection we catch 
the accents of Byron himself. Matthew Arnold asks : 

What boots it now that Byron bore, 
With haughty scorn that mocked the smart, 
Through Europe to the Aetolian shore, 
The pageant of his bleeding heart? 
That thousands counted every groan, 
And England made his woe her own? 

It matters a great deal, for this ^''pageant" is the 
pageant of the romantic revolt : it is the truest expres- 
sion in letters of the colossal egotism born of the 
Eevolution. And if the next age was, with Carlyle 
in Sartor Besartus, scornfully to repudiate the mood, 
and to abandon ^Vriting Satanic poetry'^ as an escape 
from the torture of the soul, the better way would hardly 
have been found had not Byron exhausted the possibil- 
ities of his own way. ^'There is no better proof of the 
enormous force of Byron's genius,^^ says Lord Morley 
in his brilliant essay on the poet, "than that it was able 
to produce so fine an expression from elements so in- 
trinsically unfavorable to high poetry as doubt, denial, 
antagonism, and weariness. Bare rebellion can not en- 
dure, and no succession of generations can continue to 
nourish themselves on the poetry of complaint and the 
idealization of revolt.^' 

There are positive qualities also in Byron's poetry, 
and it is those which today give it a more than historic 
importance. AVhat are these qualities? First, his gift 
of looking straight at life. Such passages as the famous 

1 John Morley. 



80 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

account of the battle of Waterloo, in the third canto 
of Cliilde Harold, and all the well-known descriptions 
of natural beauty and of the great monuments of the 
past, attest Byron's sense for reality. He moves in the 
world of facts, instead of in that world of dreams 
inhabited by some of his contemporaries. Dreams are 
good in their way, but facts are good also. Again, 
Byron is capable of a noble enthusiasm and a contagious 
ardor. Our selections show how swiftly and justly he 
was moved by the more obviously heroic in human life, 
by the charm of Mature, by the significance of history. 
Even when he is most cynical his poetry yields ample 
evidences of a perverted power of direct and lofty feel- 
ing. One must also note his poetic equipment. Of the 
two qualities of good metre, movement and grace, he 
has been said to possess the first perfectly; nor is the 
second absent, though it is less marked. His impetuous 
rhythms, though often lacking in fineness, or even in 
accuracy, — for Byron's ear was not perfect, — are admir- 
able for the freedom of their force and flow. Then we 
must do justice to Byron's intellectual power, which 
shows itself, not in his dealing with abstract themes, 
— ^^The moment he reflects he is a child," says Goethe, — 
but in his keen insight into human nature and in a 
sort of glorified common sense. His brilliant wit and 
satire are enough in themselves to place him among 
great English writers. The union of this satirical wit, 
by which he is allied to the school of Pope, with the 
adventurous temper and quick emotion that mark him 
as a contemporary of the great romanticists, gives the 
distinctive quality to his poetry. And, finally, we care 
for Byron on account of a true and manly sincerity. 



GEOKGE GOEDOISr, LOED BYEON 81 

This sincerity is curioiisly mingled with a good deal 
of affectation : often we feel that Byron is posing. But 
whenever he escapes from irritating self-conscionsness 
and writes out of his hearty as in some of his lyrics^ we 
know that we are listening to a great poet. Some people 
will always find a more intimate joy in the quiet gospel 
and delicate metres of Wordsworth; others will prefer 
to soar aloft with Shelley into that fair region ^^where 
music and moonlight and feeling are one.^' But the poet 
of Harold and Manfred and Don Juan will always hold 
his own beside these spirits of a differing greatness : for 
he is not only the chief voice of a past epochs he is also at 
his best a great interpreter of permanent realities. 

III. 

The selections from Byron presented in this book are 
on the whole in his romantic^ not in his satiric, man- 
ner. Tlie Prisoner of Cliillon and the third canto of 
Childe Harold were written in the spring of 1816, 
while the poet was living with Shelley on the shores of 
the lovely Lake of Geneva, — "clear, placid Leman.^^ The 
fourth canto of Childe Harold was written just a year 
later, in Italy. 

The serious Byron is seen at his best in these ex- 
tracts. The Prisoner of Chillon may be classed in a 
way with his long series of metrical romances. But it 
is superior to nearly all of them in the dignity of its 
subject, in true emotion, in the beauty of its lyrical 
movement. Byron knew little in detail concerning the 
life of the not wholly attractive patriot in whose person 
he writes, and the poem is, as he himself calls it, "a 
fable.'' But it is a fable in which a noble sympathy with 



82 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

all wlio suffer for the cause of freedom has quickened the 
poet^s imagination to a white heat. 

The selections from Childe Harold also have been 
applauded and learned by heart by every generation 
since they were written. Indeed^ the traveler in Europe 
encounters nearly all the most famous stanzas cut up 
into fragmentary quotations in his guide books; and he 
may be tempted to feel that the poet has given us a 
mere poetic gazetteer. But this would be doing him 
a great injustice. The value of the poem is not in 
mere description; close analysis reveals that there is 
comparatively little direct description in it. It is fine 
poetry because it is personal. It records the impact 
of much that is most beautiful in nature and most 
interesting in the human past^ upon a fiery and respon- 
sive though not faultless spirit^ and upon a keen intel- 
ligence. 

Byron published the first two cantos of the poem in 
1809^ on his return from his first trip in Europe. He 
tells the story of his wanderings^ but instead of using 
the first person he shields himself behind an imaginary 
hero^ whom the public insisted on identifying with the 
poet himself. ^^Childe^^ is a title used in old romances 
for a young man^ usually of noble birth. These first 
cantos are in every way inferior to the second two, which 
were written when the poet was seven and eight years 
older, and had passed through great and real sorrow. 
In the later cantos, Childe Harold virtually disappears, 
and nobody misses him. The poem becomes a direct 
transcript of Byron^s experiences. 

Our first selection is the famous meditation on the 
battle of Waterloo. Byron visited the battlefield within 



GEOPtGE GOEDO]Sr,LOED BYEON 83 

^,ttle, and his stately stanzas thrill 
with the grandenr of the event and the force of his 
emotiono The other selections from this canto are in- 
spired by the literary associations of the Lake of Geneva 
and by the sight of a thunderstorm among the m.onn- 
tains that surround it. 

The fourth canto^ here given as a whole^ is inspired 
by Italy. It has no underlying principle of unity^ 
except such as comes from the course of Byron^s travels. 
These begin in Venice, to which he devotes tAventy-nine 
stanzas. Then, after an excursion to Arqua, where 
Petrarch is buried, he turns southward, and stops at 
Ferrara, where he commemorates Tasso, and is led by 
meditation on other Italian poets to the fine passage on 
the wrongs of modern Italy. The forty-eighth to the 
sixty-second stanzas center in Florence, where the gal- 
leries and the Church of Santa Croce claim his chief 
attention. Still southward bound, he pauses in Umbria 
by Lake Thrasymene, but in the seventy-eighth stanza 
reaches Eome, his "City of the Soul,^^ to which nearly 
ninety stanzas are dedicated. Throughout the poem 
his own sufferings have again and again pressed into 
utterance: now toward the end he pauses to glance at 
a contemporary public sorrow in England, — the death 
of the Princess Charlotte, — and then, with a right in- 
stinct for contrast and relief, closes the long survey of 
historic events and monuments by the great conclud- 
ing stanzas, — the one hundred seventy-fifth to the 
end, — which transport us from the record of the human 
past and the experience of the human present to the 
solitudes of nature and the tameless reaches of the 
tumultuous sea. 



84 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

BjTon is only one among many English writers to 
feel the influence of the ^'woman-country^^ of Brown- 
ing^s love. The effect of Italy on English letters can 
indeed hardly be over-estimated. Hither came Chancer 
in the fourteenth century^ Sidney in the sixteenth^ Mil- 
ton in the seventeenth^ to be quickened at her sacred 
fires. From Italy, the drama of the time of Shakespeare 
and the romantic epic of the same period drew models 
and themes. In the eighteenth century France took 
the lead, and French fashions ruled supreme in thought 
and letters. The nineteenth century was to turn to 
Italy again, and the poetry of Byron and Shelley wit- 
nesses to the revival of her spell. It is felt in different 
ways by Euskin, by Swinburne, by both the Brownings, 
by Eossetti, and by many later men; and we may find 
evidence of the inexhaustible w^ealth of that fair land 
in the fact that no two of these writers have found the 
same treasures there. 

Byron's Italy is a rather obvious one. It is the coun- 
try of that classic antiquity in the knowledge of which 
eyery English schoolboy was drilled, and of the art and 
literature of the High Eenaissance, familiar in those 
days as a matter of course to every man of taste. To 
much that is now most cherished in Italy he was blind. 
The Italy of the middle ages had no charms for him. 
He never noticed the little walled mediaeval towns 
that from their hilltops fascinate the modern traveler. 
One can search the canto in vain for a mention of the 
great saints, a St. Francis or a St. Catherine, who im- 
part such glory to the land. His mention of Dante is 
perfunctory, and would not prove that he had ever read 
a line of the poet. In art, his taste resembles that of 



GEOEGE GOEDON,LOED BYEON 85 

Shelley, who turned faint with ecstasy over the vulgar 
paintings of Guido Eeni, and never gave a glance to 
the great work of Botticelli, of Giotto, or of the earlier 
artists; bnt we can hardly imagine Shelley visiting 
the Medici Chapel and never mentioning those superb 
statues of Michael Angelo that rest solemnly upon the 
tombs, awaiting the word of life. BjTon not only 
shared the limitations of the taste of his time, — he 
evinces no natural affinity for much that is noblest in 
the Old World. 

But if there are certain blind spots in his vision, 
how much he sees ! One needs a wide knowledge of 
history in Eoman and Eenaissance days to appreciate 
fully the force of the emotions that sway him. Notes 
can give the essential information in scattered items, but 
the student should be quickened to desire more intimate 
understanding. Above all, he should realize keenly the 
situation of modern Italy when Byron wrote. Supreme 
among nations for the glory of her record, she lay, en- 
slaved and all but supine, at the feet of the Austrian 
tyrant, the days of her liberation from the yoke and 
her union as a people still almost half a century in the 
future. But in her sleep she stirred, and Byron had 
identified himself with the forces that sought to awaken 
her. This underlying situation lends dramatic poign- 
ancy to his high praise and his enthusiastic devotion, 
and enables us to understand the ring of personal feel- 
ing in such stanzas as the twenty-sixth, forty-second, 
and forty-seventh. 

CJiilde Harold is written in the stanza used by Spenser 
in his romantic epic, Tlie Faery Queen. This stanza 
consists of eight lines of iambic pentameter, the same 



86 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

line as that used by Shakespeare in his dramas and by 
Milton in Paradise Lost, followed by an Alexandrine^ 
or a line composed of six feet instead of five. It is 
the most dignified stanza in English verse and probably 
the one best adapted to description and reflection. 
Byron^s handling of it should be compared with that 
of Shelley in his Revolt of Islam and Adonais, and that 
of Keats^ in The Eve of St, Agnes, Byron himself 
gets very different effects from the stanza at different 
times. In the first two cantos he writes with dignified 
and leisurely grace; in the last two^ he allows himself 
a more broken and irregular movement. The impetu- 
ous flow of his thought disregards ends, not only of 
lines but of stanzas, and gives an impression of master- 
ful ease. 



SONNET ON CHILLON 

Eternal Spirit of tlie chainless Mind ! 

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art, 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 

The heart, which love of thee alone can bind ; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consign'a — 
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 

And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 

Chillon : thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod, 

Until his very steps have left a trace 

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod. 

By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 



THE PEISOKER OF CHILLON. 



My hair is gray^ but not with years, 
Nor grew it white 
In a single night, 
As men^s have grown from sudden fears; 
My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose. 
For they have been a dungeon^s spoil. 
And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are banned, and barred — forbidden fare; 
But this was for my father's faith 
I suffered chains and courted death; 
That father perished at the stake 
87 



88 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

For tenets he would not forsake; 
15 And for the same his lineal race 

In darkness found a dwelling place; 

^\e were seven — ^who now are one. 
Six in youth^ and one in age, 

Finished as thej^ had begun, 
20 Proud of Persecution's rage; 

One in fire, and two in field. 

Their belief with blood have sealed: 

Dying as their father died, 

For the God their foes denied; — 
25 Three were in a dungeon cast, 

Of whom this wreck is left the last. 

II. 

There are seven pillars of Gothic mould 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old, 
There are seven columns massy and gray, 

30 ■ Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 

A sunbeam which hath lost its way, 
And through the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left: 
Creeping o'er the floor so damp, 

35 Like a marsh's meteor lamp : 

And in each pillar there is a ring, 

And in each ring there is a chain; 
That iron is a cankering thing, 
For in these limbs its teeth remain, 

40 With marks that will not wear away 
Till I have done with this new day, 
AATiich now is painful to these eyes, 
Which have not seen the sun so rise 



THE PEISOXEE OF CHILLON. 

For years — I cannot count them o^er, 
15 I lost their long and heavy score 

When my last brother drooped and died. 
And I lay living by his side. 

in. 

They chained lis each to a column stone, 
And Tre were three — yet, each alone; 

50 We could not move a single pace. 
We could not see each other^s face. 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us strangers in our sight: 
And thus together — yet apart, 

55 Fettered in hand, but joined in heart; 
^T was still some solace, in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of earth. 
To hearken to each other^s speech. 
And each turn comforter to each 

60 With some new hope or legend old, 
Or song heroically bold; 
But even these at length grew cold. 
Our voices took a dreary tone. 
An echo of the dungeon stone, 

65 A grating sound — not full and free 

As they of yore were wont to be; 
It might be fancy — but to me 
They never sounded like our own. 

rv. 

I was the eldest of the three, 
70 And to uphold and cheer the rest 

I ought to do — and did my best — 



90 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

And each did well in his degree. 

The j^oungest, whom my father loved, 
Because our mother^s brow was given 
75 To him — with eyes as blue as heaven, 

For him my soul was sorely moved : 
And truly might it be distressed 
To see such bird in such a nest; 
For he was beautiful as day — 
80 (When day was beautiful to me 

As to young eagles being free) — 

A polar day^ which will not see 
A sunset till its summer's gone. 

Its sleepless summer of long light, 
85 The snow-clad offspring of the sun: 

And thus he was as pure and bright. 
And in his natural spirit gay. 
With tears for naught but others' ills^ 
And then they flowed like mountain rills, 
90 Unless he could assuage the woe 
Which he abhorred to view below. 

V. 

The other was as pure of mind. 
But formed to combat with his kind; 
Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
95 Which 'gainst the world in war had stood. 
And perished in the foremost rank 

With joy: — but not in chains to pine: 
His spirit withered with their clank, 

I saw it silently decline — 
100 And so perchance in sooth did mine: 

But yet I forced it on to cheer 



THE PEISONER OF CHILLON 91 

Those relics of a home so dear. 
He was a hunter of the hills, 

Had followed there the deer and wolf; 

To him this dungeon was a gulf. 
And fettered feet the worst of ills. 

VI. 

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls : 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its massy waters meet and flow; 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon^s snow-white battlement. 

Which round about the wave inthrals : 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made — and like a living grave. 
Below the surface of the lake 
The dark vault lies wherein we lay, 
We heard it ripple night and day: 

Sounding o^er our heads it knocked ; 
And I have felt the winter^s spray 
Wash through the bars when winds were high 
And wanton in the happy sky; 

And then the very rock hath rocked. 

And I have felt it shake, unshocked, 
Because I could have smiled to see 
The death that would have set me free. 

VII. 

I said my nearer brother pined, 
I said his mighty heart declined. 
He loathed and put away his food; 
It was not that ^t was coarse and rude, 



92 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

130 For we were used to hunter^s fare, 
And for the like had little care : 
The milk drawn from the mountain goat 
"Was changed for water from the moat. 
Our bread was such as captive^s tears 

135 Have moistened many a thousand years. 
Since man first pent his fellow men 
Like brutes within an iron den; 
But what were these to us or him? 
These wasted not his heart or limb ; 

140 My brother^s soul was of that mould 
Which in a palace had grown cold, 
Had his free breathing been denied 
The range of the steep mountain's side. 
But why delay the truth? — he died. 

145 I saw, and could not hold his head, 

Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead, — 
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain. 
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
He died, and they unlocked his chain, 

150 And scooped for him a shallow grave 

Even from the cold earth of our cave. ' 
I begged them, as a boon, to lay 
His corse in dust whereon the day 
Might shine — it was a foolish thought, 

155 But then within my brain it wrought. 
That even in death his freeborn breast 
In such a dungeon could not rest. 
I might have spared my idle prayer — 
They coldly laughed, and laid him there : 

LPO The flat. and turfless earth above 
The being we so much did love; 



THE PEISONEE OF CHILLON 93 

His empty chain above it leant. 
Such murcler^s fitting monument ! 

YIII. 

But he, the favorite and tlie flower. 
Most clierished since his natal hour. 
His mother^s image in fair face. 
The infant love of all his race, 
His martj^ed father^s dearest thought. 
My latest care, for whom I sought 
To hoard my life, that his might be 
Less wretched now, and one day free; 
He, too, who yet had held untired 
A spirit natural or inspired — 
He, too, was struck, and day by day 
Was withered on the stalk away. 
Oh, God ! it is a fearful thing 
To see the human soul take wing 
In any shape, in any mood: — 
Vye seen it rushing forth in blood, 
IVe seen it on the breaking ocean 
Strive with a swoPn convulsive motion, 
Tye seen the sick and ghastly bed 
Of Sin delirious with its dread: 
But these were horrors — this was woe 
Unmixed with such — but sure and slow; 
He faded, and so calm and meek. 
So softly worn, so sweetly weak. 
So tearless, }^et so tender — kind, 
x4nd grieved for those he left behind; 
Withal the while a cheek whose bloom 
Was as a mockery of the tomb, 



94 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Whose tints as gently sunk away 
As a departing rainbow's raj^ — 
An eye of most transparent light, 

195 That almost made the dungeon bright, 
And not a word of murmur, not 
A groan o^er his untimely lot;, — 
A little talk of better days, 
A little hope my own to raise, 

200 For I was sunk in silence — lost 
In this last loss, of all the most; 
And then the sighs he would suppress 
Of fainting nature^s feebleness, 
More slowly drawn, grew less and less: 

205 I listened, but I could not hear — 
I called, for I was wild with fear ; 
I knew ^t was hopeless, but my dread 
Would not be thus admonished; 
I called, and thought I heard a sound — 

210 I burst my chain with one strong bound. 
And rushed to him: — I found him not, 
/ only stirred in this black spot, 
I only lived — / only drew 
The accursed breath of dungeon-dew; 

215 The last, the sole, the dearest link 

Between me and the eternal brink. 
Which bound me to my failing race, 
Was broken in this fatal place. 
One on the earth, and one beneath — 

220 My brothers — both had ceased to breathe. 

I took that hand which lay so still, 
Alas ! my own was full as chill ; 
I had not strength to stir, or strive. 



THE PEISONEE OF CHILLON 95 

But felt that I was still alive — 
A frantic feelings when we know 
That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I conld not die^ 
I had no earthly hope — but faith^ 
And that forbade a selfish death. 

IX. 

What next befell me then and there 

I know not well — I never knew — 
First came the loss of lights and air. 

And then of darkness too: 
I had no thought, no feeling — none — 
Among the stones I stood a stone, 
And was, scarce conscious what I wist. 
As shrubless crags within the mist; 
For all was blank, and bleak, and gray; 
It was not night — it was not day, 
It was not even the dungeon-light. 
So hateful to my heavy sight. 
But vacancy absorbing space. 
And fixedness, without a place; 
There were no stars, no earth, no time, 
N'o- check, no change, no good, no crime. 
But silence, and a stirless breath 
AVhich neither was of life nor death; 
A sea of stagnant idleness. 
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! 

X. 

A light broke in upon my brain, — 
It was the carol of a bird ; 



96 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

It ceased^ and then it came again^ 
The sweetest song ear ever heard, 

255 And mine was thankful till my eyes 
Ban over with the glad surprise, 
And they that moment could not see 
I was the mate of misery; 
But then by dull degrees came back 

260 My senses to their wonted track; 

I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
Close slowly round me as before, 
I saw the glimmer of the sun 
Creeping as it before had done, 

265 But through the crevice where it came 

That bird was perched, as fond and tame. 

And tamer than upon the tree ; 
A lovely bird, with azure wings, 
And song that said a thousand things, 

270 And seemed to say them all for me! 

I never saw its like before, 
I ne^er shall see its likeness more: 
It seemed like me to want a mate, 
But was not half so desolate, 

275 And it was come to love me when 
J^one lived to love me so again, 
And cheering from my dungeon's brink. 
Had brought me back to feel and think. 
I know not if it late were free, 

280 Or broke its cage to perch on mine. 

But knowing well captivity, 

Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine ! 
Or if it were, in winged guise, 
A visitant from Paradise; 



THE PEISONEE OF CHILLON 97 

For — Heaven forgive that thought! the while 

Which made me both to weep and smile; 

I sometimes deemed that it might be 

My brother^s soul come down to me; 

But then at last away it fiew^ 

And then ^t was mortal well I knew. 

For he would never thus have flown. 

And left me twice so doubly lone, — 

Lone — as the corse within its shroud, 

Lone — as a solitary cloud, 

A single cloud on a sunny day, 
While all the rest of heaven is clear," 
A frown upon the atmosphere, 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue, and earth is gay. 

XI. 

A kind -of change came in my fate. 
My keepers grew compassionate; 
I know not what had made them so, 
They were inured to sights of woe. 
But so it was : — my broken chain 
With links unfastened did remain, 
And it was liberty to stride 
Along my cell from side to side, 
x\nd up and down, and then athwart. 
And tread it over every part; 
And round the pillars one by one, 
Eeturning where my walk begun. 
Avoiding only, as I trod. 
My brothers^ graves without a sod; 
For if I thought with heedless tread 



98 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

315 My step profaned their lowly bed, 

My breath came gaspingly and thick, 
And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. 

XII. 

I made a footing in the wall, 
It was not therefrom to escape, 

320 Tor 1 had buried one and all 

Who loved me in a human shape; 
And the whole earth would henceforth be 
A wider prison unto me: 
'No child, no sire, no kin had I, 

325 No partner in my misery; 

I thought of this, and I was glad, 

For thought of them had made me mad; 

But I was curious to ascend 

To my barred windows, and to bend 

330 Once more, upon the mountains high. 
The quiet of a loving eye. 

XIII. 

I saw them — and they were the same. 

They were not changed like me in frame; 

I saw their thousand years of snow 
335 On high — their wide long lake below, 

And the blue Ehone in fullest flow ; 

I heard the torrents leap and gush 

O^er channelled rock and broken bush; 

I saw the white-walled distant town, 
340 And whiter sails go skimming down; 

And then there was a little isle, 



THE PEISONEE OF CHILLON 99 

Which in my very face did smile, 
The only one in view; 

A small green isle, it seemed no more, 
345 Scarce broader than my dungeon floor, 

But in it there were three tall trees, 

And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 

And by it there were waters flowing. 

And on it there were young flowers growing, 
350 Of gentle breath and hue. 

The fish swam by the castle wall, 

And they seemed joyous each and all; 

The eagle rode the rising blast, 

Methought he never flew so fast 
355 As then to me he seemed to flj^, 

And then new tears came in my eye. 

And I felt troubled — and would fain 

I had not left my recent chain; 

And when I did descend again, 
360 The darkness of my dim abode 

Fell on me as a heavy load ; 

It was as is a new-dug grave, 

Closing o^er one we sought to save, — 

And yet my glance, too much oppressed, 
365 Had almost need of such a rest. 

XIY. 

It might be months, or years, or days, 

I kept no count — I took no note, 
I had no hope my eyes to raise. 

And clear them of their dreary mote; 
370 At last men came to set me free, 

I asked not why, and recked not where ; 



100 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

It was at length the same to me, 
Fettered or fetterless to be, 
I learned to love despair. 

375 And thus when they appeared at last, 
And all my bonds aside were cast. 
These heavj^ walls to me had grown 
A hermitage — and all my own ! 
And half I felt as they were come 

380 To tear me from a second home: 

With spiders I had friendship made, 
And watched them in their sullen trade, 
Had seen the mice by moonlight plaj". 
And why should I feel less than they? 

385 We were all inm_ates of one place, 
And I, the monarch of each race, 
Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell I 
In quiet we had learned to dwell — 
My very chains and I grew friends, 

390 So much a long communion tends 
To make us what we are: — even I 
Regained my freedom with a sigh. 



CHILDE HAEOLD. 

SELECTIOXS FRO^I CAXTO III. 
XVII. 

stop ! — for thy tread is on an Empire's dust I 
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! 
Is the spot marked with no colossal bust, 
ISTor colmnn trophied for triumphal show? 
K'one; but the moraFs truth tells simpler so, 
As the ground was before, thus let it be; — 
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! 
And is this all the world has gained by thee. 
Thou first and last of fields, king-making victory ? 

XVIII. 

And Harold stands upon this place of skulls^ 
The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo ! 
How in an hour the power which gave annuls 
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too ! 
In ^pride of place' here last the eagle flew. 
Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, 
Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through; 
x\mbition's life and labors all were vain; 
He wears the shattered links of the world's broken chain. 

XIX. 

Pit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit 
And foam in fetters, — but is Earth more free? 

101 



102 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Did nations combat to malve One submit;, 
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty? 
What ! shall reviving Thraldom again be 
The patched-up idol of enlightened days? 
Shall we who struck the Lion down^ shall we 
Pay the AYolf homage, proffering lowly gaze 
And servile knees to thrones ? In'o; prove before ye praise ! 

XX. 

If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more ! 
In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears 
For Europe^s flowers long rooted up before 
The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain years 
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears. 
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord 
Of roused-up millions : all that most endears 
Glory is when the myrtle wreathes a sword 
Such as Harmodius drew on Athens^ tyrant lord. 

XXI. 

There was a sound of revelry by night. 
And Belgium^s capital had gathered then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to ej^es which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 

XXII. 

Did ye not hear it ? — Xo ; 't was but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 



CHILDE HAEOLD 103 

On with the dance! let jo}^ be Tinconfined; 
'No sleep till morn^ when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing Hours with %ing feet — 
But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon^s opening roar ! 

XXIII. 

Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
Sate Brunswick^s fated chieftain; he did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival, 
And caught its tone with Death^s prophetic ear; 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near. 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 

XXIV. 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne^er might be repeated ; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? 

XXV. 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. 



104 SHOETEB ENGLISH POEMS 

Went pouring forward with impetnons speed, 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of w^ar ; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; 
And near^ the beat of the alarming drum 
Eoused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
AYhile thronged the citizens with terror dumb^ 
Or whispering with white lips — ^The foe ! they come ! 
they come V 

xxvi. 

And wild and high the ^Cameron's gathering^ rose, 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn^s hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ! — 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills. 
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years. 
And Evan^s, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's 
ears. 

XXVII. 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. 
Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 



CHILDE HAEOLD 105 



XXVIII. 



Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
Last eve in Beauty^s circle proudly gay. 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battlers magnificently stern array I 
The thunder-clouds close o^er it, which when rent 
The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent. 
Eider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent ! 



LXXVI. 

But this is not my theme ; and I return 
To that which is immediate, and require 
Those who find contemplation in the urn. 
To look on One whose dust was once all fire, 
A native of the land where I respire 
The clear air for a while — a passing guest, — 
Where he became a being whose desire 
Was to be glorious ; ^t was a foolish quest. 
The which to gain and keep he sacrificed all rest. 

LXXVII. 

Here the self -torturing sophist, wild Eousseau, 

The apostle of affliction, he who threw 

Enchantment over passion and from woe 

AYrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew 

The breath which made him wretched ; yet he knew 

How to make madness beautiful, and cast 

O^er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue 



106 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Of words^ like sunbeams^ dazzling as they passed 
The eyes which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast. 

LXXVIII. 

His love was passion's essence : — as a tree 
On fire by lightnings with ethereal flame 
Kindled he was^ and blasted ; for to be 
Thns^ and enamored^ were in him the same. 
Bnt his was not the love of living dame, 
Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, 
But of ideal beauty, which becam^e 
In him existence, and overflowing teems 
Along his burning page, distempered though it seems. 

LXXIX. 

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this 
Invested her with all that 's wild and sweet ; 
This hallowed, too, the memorable kiss 
Which every morn his fevered lip would greet 
From hers, who but ivith friendship his would meet ; 
But to that gentle touch through brain and breast 
Flashed the thrilled spirit's love-devouring heat. 
In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest 
Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possessed. 

LXXX. 

His life was one long war with self-sought foes. 

Or friends by him self -banished ; for his mind 

Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose 

For its own cruel sacrifice the kind, 

'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind. 

But he was phrensied, — wherefore, who may know ? 



CHILDE HAROLD 107 

Since cause might be which skill could never find ; 
But he was phrensied^ by disease or woe^ 
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show. 

LXXXI. 

For then he was inspired, and from him came, 
As from the Pythian' s mystic cave of yore, 
Those oracles which set the world in flame, 
'Sot ceased to burn till kingdoms were no more. 
Did he not this for France, which lay before 
Bowed to the inborn tyranny of years, 
Broken and trembling to the yoke she bore, 
Till by the voice of him and his compeers 
Roused up to too much wrath which follows o'ergrown 
fears ? 

LXXXII. 

They made themselves a fearful monument ! 
The wreck of old opinions — things which grew, 
Breathed from the birth of time : the veil they rent. 
And what behind it lay all earth shall view. 
But good with ill they also overthrew, 
Leaving but ruins, wherewith to rebuild 
Upon the same foundation, and renew 
Dungeons and thrones, which the same hour refilled, 
As heretofore, because ambition was self-willed. 

LXXXIII. 

But this will not endure, nor be endured ! 
Mankind have felt their strength, and made it felt. 
They might have used it better, but, allured 
By their new vigor, sternly have they dealt 



108 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

On one another ; Pity ceased to melt 
With her once natural charities. But they, 
AYho in oppression's darkness caved have dwelt, 
They were not eagles, nourished with the day ; 
What marvel then, at times, if they mistook their prey? 

LXXXIV. 

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar ? 
The hearths bleed longest, and but heal to wear 
That which disfigures it ; and they w^ho war 
AVith their own hopes, and have been vanquished, bear 
Silence, but not submission : in his lair 
Fixed Passion holds his breath, until the hour 
Which shall atone for years ; none need despair : 
It came, it cometh, and will come, — the power 
To punish or forgive — in one we shall be slower. 

LXXXV. 

Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake 
With the wild world I dwelt in is a thing 
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
To waft me from distraction; once I loved 
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring 
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved. 
That I Avith stern delights should e'er have been so 
moved. 

LXXXVI. 

It is the hush of night, and all between 

Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 



CHILDE HAEOLD 109 

Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen^ 
Save darkened Jura, whose capped heights appear 
Precipitously steep ; and drawing near, 
There breathes a living fragrance from the shore 
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more. 

LXXXVII. 

He is an evening reveller, who makes 
His life an infancy and sings his fill; 
At intervals, some bird from out the brakes" 
Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
There seems a floating whisper on the hill, 
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews 
All silently their tears of love instil, 
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse 
Deep into J^ature's breast the spirit of her hues. 

LXXXVIII. 

Ye stars, which are the poetry of heaven ! 
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate 
Of men and empires, — ^t is to be forgiven, 
That in our aspirations to be great 
Our destinies overleap their mortal state, 
And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are 
A beauty and a mystery, and create 
In us such love and reverence from afar 
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves 
a star. 



110 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

LXXXIX. 

All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep. 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most, 
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — 
All heaven and earth are still ; from the high host 
Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast. 
All is concentred in a life intense, 
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 
But hath a part of being, and a sense 
Of that which is of all Creator and defence. 

xc. 

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt 
In solitude, where we are least alone ; 
A truth, which through our being then doth melt 
And purifies from self : it is a tone. 
The soul and source of music, which makes known 
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm 
Like to the fabled Cytherea^s zone. 
Binding all things with beauty ; — ^t would disarm 
The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. 

xci. 

Not vainly did the early Persian make 
His altar the high places and the peak 
Of earth-o^ergazing mountains, and thus take 
A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek 
The Spirit in whose honor shrines are weak, 
Upreared of human hands. Come, and compare 
Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, 
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air. 
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer ! 



CHILDE HAEOLD HI 

XCII. 

The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! night, 
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong. 
Yet lovely in yonr strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder ! not from one lone cloud. 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue. 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 

XCIII. 

And this is in the night. — Most glorious night 1 
Thou were not sent for slumber ! let me be 
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea. 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
x\nd now again ^t is black, — and now the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth. 
As if they did rejoice o^er a 3'oung earthquake's birth. 

xciv. 

Now, where the swift Ehone cleaves his way between 
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted 
In hate, whose mining depths so intervene 
That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted ; 
Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted^ 
Love was the very root of the fond rage 
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed ; 
Itself expired, but leaving them an age 
Of years all winters, — w^ar within themselves to wage : — 



112 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

XCV. 

'Now, where the quick Ehone thus hath cleft his way, 
The mightiest of tlie storms hatli ta'en his stand : 
For here^ not one^, but many, mal^e their play, 
And fling their thunderbolts from hand to hand, 
Flashing and cast around ; of all the band, 
The brightest through these parted hills hath forked 
His lightnings, — as if he did understand 
That in such gaps as desolation worked. 
There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurked. 

xcvi. 

Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye, 
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll 
Of your departing voices is the knoll 
Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where of ye, tempests, is the goal? 
Are ye like those within the human breast ? 
Or do ye find at length, like eagles, some high nest ? 



cv. 

Lausanne and Ferney, ye have been the abodes 
Of names which unto you bequeathed a name ; 
Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, 
A path to perpetuity of fame : 
They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim 
Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile 
Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the 
flame 



CHILDE HAEOLD 113 

Of Heaven again assailed^ if Heaven the while 
On man and man^s research could deign do more than 
smile. 

cvi. 

The one was fire and fickleness^ a child, 
Most mutable in wishes, but in mind 
A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild, — 
Historian, bard, philosopher, combined ; 
He multiplied himself among mankind, 
The Proteus of their talents, but his own 
Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind, 
Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, — 
Now to overthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. 

CVII. 

The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought. 
And hiving wisdom with each studious year, 
In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, 
And shaped his weapon with an edge severe, 
Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer; 
The lord of irony, — that master-spell, 
AYhich stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, 
And doomed him to the zealof s ready hell. 
Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. 



CHILDE HAROLD. 

CAXTO lY. 
I. 

I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, 
A palace and a prison on each hand ; 
I saw from ont the wave her structures rise 
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : 
5 A thousand years tlieir cloudy wings expand 
Around me^ and a dying Glory smiles 
O'er the far times^ when many a subject land 
Looked to the winged Lion^s marble piles^ 
Where Venice sate in state^ throned on her hundred 
isles ! 

II. 

10 She looks a sea Cybele^ fresh from ocean, 
Eising with her tiara of proud towers 
At airy distance, with majestic motion, 
A ruler of the waters and their powers. 
And such she was ; — her daughters had their dowers 

15 From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 
Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers : 
In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased. 

III. 

In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 
20 And silent rows the songless gondolier ; 

114 



CHILDE HAEOLD 115 

Her palaces are crumbling to the shore^ 
And music meets not alwa5^s now the ear ; 
Those daj^s are gone^ bnt Beanty still is here ; 
States fall^ arts fade^ but J^atnre doth not die, 
25 Xor yet forget how Venice once was dear^ 
The pleasant place of all festivity^ 
The revel of the earthy the masqne of Italy ! 

IV. 

But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
Her name in story^ and her long array 

30 Of mighty shadows^ whose dim forms despond 
Above the dogeless city's vanished sway : 
Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
With the Eialto ; Shylock and the Moor 
And Pierre can not be swept or worn away^ 

35 The keystones of the arch ! — though all were o'er^ 
For us repeopled were the solitary shore. 

v. 

The beings of the mind are not of clay ; 

Essentially immortal^ they create 

And multiply in us a brighter ray 
40 And more beloved existence. That which Fate 

Prohibits to dull life in this our state 

Of mortal bondage^ by these spirits supplied;, 

First exiles^ then replaces what we hate ; 

Watering the heart whose early flowers have died^ 
45 And with a fresher growth replenishing the void. 

VI. 

Such is the refuge of our youth and age^ 
The first from Hope^ the last from Vacancy ; 



116 SHOETEK ENGLISH POEMS 

And this worn feeling peoples many a page, 
And, ma)^ be, that which grows beneath mine ej^e. 
50 Yet there are things whose strong reality 
Outshines onr f airj^-land ; in shape and hues 
More beautiful than our fantastic sky, 
And the strange constellations which the Muse 
O^er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : 

VII. 

55 I saw or dreamM of such, — but let them go, — 
They came like truth, and disappeared like dreams ; 
And whatso'er they were — are now but so. 
I could replace them if I would ; still teems 
My mind with many a form which aptly seems 

60 Such as I sought for, and at moments found : 
Let these too go, for waking Eeason deems 
Such over-weening phantasies unsound. 
And other voices speak and other sights surround. 

VIII. 

I've taught me other tongues, and in strange eyes 
65 Have made me not a stranger — to the mind 

Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ; 

Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find 

A country with — ay, or without mankind ; 

Yet was I born where men are proud to be, 
70 Xot without cause ; and should I leave behind 

The inviolate island of the sage and free, 
And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, 

IX. 

Perhaps I loved it well ; and should I lay 
My ashes in a soil which is not mine. 



CHILDE HAROLD H^ 

75 My spirit shall resume it — if we may 
Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine 
My hopes of being remembered in my line 
With my land^s language : if too fond and far 
These aspirations in their scope incline, — 

80 If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, 
Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar 

X. 

My nam^e from out the temple where the dead 
Are honoured by the nations — let it be, 
And light the laurels on a loftier head ! 

85 And be the Spartan's epitaph on me, 

^Sparta hath many a worthier son than he/ 
Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; 
The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree 
I planted, — they have torn me — and I bleed : 

90 1 should have known what fruit would spring from such 
a seed. 

XI. 

The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord ; 

And annual marriage now no more renewM, 

The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, 

?f egiected garment of her widowhood ! 
95 St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood 

Stand, but in mockery of his withered power, 
^ Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued, 

And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour 
When Venice was a queen with an unequalFd dower. 

XII. 

100 The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — 
An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; 



118 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Kingxloms are shrunk to provinces^ and chains 
Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt 
From power^s high pinnacle, when they have felt 
105 The sunshine for a while^ and downward go 

Like lauwine loosened from the mountain's belt ; — 
Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo, 
Tiy octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe ! 

XIII. 

Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, 
no Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; 
But is not Doria's menace come to pass ? 
Are they not bridled? — Venice lost and won, 
Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done. 
Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! 
115 Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, 
Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes, 
Fj'om whom submission wrings an infamous repose. 

XIV. 

In youth she was all glory, a new Tyre, 
Her very by-word sprung from victory, 

120 The Tlanter of the Lion,' which through fire 
And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea ; 
Though making many slaves, herself still free, 
And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomxite ; — 
Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! Vouch it, ye 

125 Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight ! 
For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. 

XV. 

Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the long file 
Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ; 



CHILDE HAROLD 119 

But where they dwelt^ the vast and sumptuous pile 
130 Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ; 
Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, 
Have yielded to the stranger ; empty halls^ 
Thin streets^ and foreign aspects, such as must 
Too oft remind her who and what enthralls, 
135 Have flung a desolate cloud o^er Venice^ lovely walls. 

XYI. 

When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, 
And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, 
Eedemption rose up in the Attic Muse, 
Her voice their only ransom from afar : 
140 See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car 
Of the overmastered victor stops, the reins 
Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar 
Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's chains, 
And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains. 

XVII. 

145 Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, 
Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, 
Thy choral memory of the Bard divine. 
Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 
Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot 

150 Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, 
Albion, to thee : the Ocean queen should not 
Abandon Ocean's children ; in the fall 
Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 

XVIII. 

I loved her from my bo3'hood ; she to me 
155 AA'as as a fairv citv of the heart. 



120 SHOETEB ENGLISH POEMS 

Eising like v^^ater-columns from the sea. 
Of joy the sojourn^ and of wealth the mart: 
And Otway^ EadclifEe^ Schiller, Shakespeare's art. 
Had stamp'd her image in me ; and even so, 
160 Although I found her thus, we did not part, 
Perchance even dearer in her day of woe 
Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 

XIX. 

I can repeople with the past — and of 

The present there is still for eye and thought, 

165 And meditation chastened down, enough, 

And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought : 
And of the happiest moments which were wrought 
Within the web of my existence, some 
From thee, fair Venice, have their colours caught : 

170 There are some feelings Time cannot benumb, 

Xor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. 

XX. 

But from their nature will the tannen grow 
Loftiest on loftiest and least sheltered rocks, 
Eooted in barrenness, where nought below 

175 Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks 

Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks 
The howling tempest, till its height and frame 
Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks 
Of bleak, gray granite into life it came, 

180 And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same. 

XXI. 

Existence may be borne, and the deep root 
Of life and sufferance make its firm abode 



CHILDE HAROLD 121 

In bare and desolated bosoms : mute 
The camel labours with the heaviest load, 
1S5 And the wolf dies in silence, — not bestowed 
In vain should snch example be ; if they. 
Things of ignoble or of savage mood, 
Endnre and shrink not, we of nobler clay 
May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. 

XXII. 

190 All suffering doth destroy, or is destroyed 
Even by the sufferer ; and, in each event, 
Ends : — Some, with hope replenished and rebuoy^d, 
Eeturn to whence they came — with like intent, 
And weave their web again ; some, bow^d and bent, 

195 Wax gray and ghastl}^, withering ere their time, 
And perish with the reed on which they leant ; 
Some seek devotion, toil, war, good, or crim^e, 
According as their souls were formed to sink or climb. 

XXIII. 

But ever and anon of griefs subdued 
200 There comes a token like a scorpion^s sting, 

Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued; 

And slight withal may be the things which bring 

Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 

Aside for ever : it may be a sound, — 
205 A tone of music, summer's eve, or spring, 

A flower, the wind, the ocean, — which shall wound, 
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly 
bound ; 



122 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

XXIV. 

And how and why we know not^ nor can trace 
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 

210 But feel the shock renewed, nor can efface 

The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, 
Which out of things familiar, nndesignM, 
When least we deem of such, calls up to view 
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, 

215 The cold — the changed — perchance the dead — anew. 
The mourned, the loved, the lost — too many ! — yet 
how few ! 

XXV. 

But my soul wanders ; I demand it back 

To meditate amongst decay, and stand 

A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track 
220 FalFn states and buried greatness, o'er a land 

Which vms the mightiest in its old command, 

And is the loveliest, and must ever be 

The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand. 

Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, 
225 The beautiful, the brave — the lords of earth and sea, 

XXVI. 

The commonwealth of kings, the men of Eome ! 
And even since, and now, fair Itaty, 
Thou art the garden of the world, the home 
Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; ^ 

230 Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? 
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste 
More rich than other climes' fertility; 
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced 
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. 



CHILDE HAEOLD 123 

XXVII. 

235 The moon is up^ and yet it is not night — 
Sunset divides the sky with her^ a sea 
Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
Of blue Friuli's mountains ; Heaven is free 
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be 

240 Melted to one vast Iris of the West, 

Where the Day joins the past Eternity; 
AYhile, on the other hand, meek Dianas crest 
Floats through the azure air, an island of the blest ! 

XXVIII. 

A single star is at her side, and reigns 
245 With her o er half the lovely heaven ; but still 
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
EolPd o^er the peak of the far Eha3tian hill, 
As Day and Xight contending were, until 
Nature reclaimed her order : gently flows 
250 The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil 
The odorous purple of a new-born rose. 
Which streams upon her stream, and glassed within it 
glows, 

XXIX. 

FilFd with the face of heaven, which from afar 
Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues, 

255 From the rich sunset to the rising star, 
Their magical variety diffuse. 
x4nd now they change ; a paler shadow strews 
Its mantle o^er the mountains ; parting day 
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 

260 With a new colour as it gasps away, 

The last still loveliest, till — ^t is gone — and all is gray. 



124 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

XXX. 

There is a tomb in Arqua ; — rear'd in air, 
Pillar'd in their sarcophagus^ repose 
The bones of Lanra^s lover : here repair 

265 Many familiar with his well-snng woes, 
The pilgrims of his genius. He arose 
To raise a language, and his land reclaim 
From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes ; 
Watering the tree which bears his lady's name 

270 With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. 

XXXI. 

They keep his dust in Arqua where he died, 
The mountain-village where his latter days 
Went down the vale of years ; and 't is their pride ■ 
An honest pride, and let it be their praise — 
275 To offer to the passing stranger^s gaze 

His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain 
And venerably simple, such as raise 
A feeling more accordant with his strain 
Than if a pj^amid formed his monumental fane. 

XXXII. 

280 And the soft quiet hamlet wh^T he dwelt 
Is one of that complexion which seems made 
For those who their mortality have felt. 
And sought a refuge from their hopes decayed 
In the deep umbrage of a green hilFs shade, 

285 Which shows a distant prospect far away 
Of busy cities, now in vain displayM, 
For they can lure no further ; and the ray 
Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday. 



CHILDE HAROLD 125 

XXXIII. 

Developing the mountains^ leaves^ and flowers^ 
290 And shining in the brawling brook, where-by^ 

Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours 

With a calm languor, which, though to the eye 

Idlesse it seem, hath its mortality. 

If from society we learn to live, 
295 ^T is solitude should teach us how to die ; 

It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give 
No hollow aid ; alone — man with his God must strive : 

XXXIV. 

Or, it may be, with demons, who impair 

The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey 

300 In melancholy bosoms, such as were 

Of moody texture from their earliest day 
And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay. 
Deeming themselves predestined to a doom 
Which is not of the pangs that pass away ; 

305 Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb, 
The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. 

XXXV. 

Ferrara, in thy wide and grass-grown streets. 
Whose symmetry was not for solitude. 
There seems as 't were a curse upon the seats 

310 Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood 
Of Este, which for many an age made good 
Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore 
Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood 
Of petty power impelled, of those who wore 

315 The wreath which Dante^s brow^ alone had worn before. 



126 SHOKTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

XXXVI. 

And Tasso is their glory and their shame : 
Hark to his strain and then survey his cell ! 
And see how dearly earned Torqnato^s fame^ 
And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell. 
320 The miserable despot could not quell 

The insulted mind he sought to quench^ and blend 
With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell 
Where he had plunged it. Glory without end 
Scattered t.he clouds away, and on that name attend 

XXXVII. 

325 The tears and praises of all time ; while thine 
AVould rot in its oblivion — in the sink 
Of worthless dust which from thy boasted line 
Is shaken into nothing — but the link 
Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think 

330 Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn. 
Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink 
From thee I if in another station born, 
Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad^st to mourn :- 

XXXVIII. 

Thou! form'd to eat, and be despised, and die, 
335 Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou 
Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty ; 
He ! with a glory round his f urrow'd brow, 
Which emanated then, and dazzles now. 
In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire, 
340 And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow 

No strain which shamed his country^s creaking lyre, 
That whetstone of the teeth — monotony in wire ! 



CHILDE HAEOLD 137 

XXXIX. 

Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! ^t was his 
In life and death to be the mark where Wrong 

345 AimM with her poison'd arrows^ but to miss. 
Oh^ victor nnsnrpass'd in modern song ! 
Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long 
The tide of generations shall roll on^ 
And not the whole combined and countless throng 

850 Compose a mind like thine ! Though all in one 

Condensed their scattered rays^ they would not form 
a sun 

XL. 

Great as thou art^ yet parallel'd by those^ 
Thy countrymen^ before thee born to shine, 
The Bards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose 

355 The Tuscan father's comedy divine ; 
Then, not unequal to the Florentine 
The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth 
A new creation with his magic line, 
And, like the Ariosto of the Xorth, 

360 Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth. 

XLI. 

The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust 
The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves ; 
'Not was the ominous element unjust, 
For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves 
865 Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, 

And the false semblance but disgraced his brow; 
Yet still, if fondly Superstition grieves. 
Know, that the lightning sanctities below 
Whatever it strikes ; — yon head is doubly sacred now* 



128 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

XLII. 

370 Italia ! oh, Italia ! thou who hast 

The fatal gift of beauty, which became 
A funeral dower of present woes and past, 
On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame. 
And annals graved in characters of flame. 

375 Oh, God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness 

Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim 
Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press 
To shed thy blood and drink the tears of thy distress ; 

XLIII. 

Then mightst thou more appal; or, less desired, 
3go Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored 

For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired, 
Would not be seen the armed torrents poured 
Down the deep Alps ; nor would the hostile horde 
Of many-nation^d spoilers from the Po 
385 Quaff blood and water ; nor the stranger's sword 
Be thy sad weapon of defence, and so, 
Victor or vanquished, thou the slave of friend or foe. 

XLIV. 

Wandering in youth, I traced the path of him. 
The Eoman friend of Eome's least-mortal mind, 

390 The friend of Tully. As my bark did skim 
The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, 
Came Megara before me, and behind 
'^gina lay, Piraeus on the right. 
And Corinth on the left ; I lay reclined 

395 Along the prow, and saw all these unite 

In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight; — 



CHILDE HAEOLD 129 

XLV. 

For Time liath not rebuilt them, but uprear^d 

Barbaric dwellings on their shattered site, 

Which only make more mourned and more endeared 

400 The few last raj^s of their far-scattered light 
And the crushed relics of their vanished might. 
The Eoman saw these tombs in his own age, 
These sepulchres of cities which excite 
Sad wonder, and his 5^et surviving page 

405 The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. 

XLVI. 

That page is now before me, and on mine 
His conntry^s ruin added to the mass 
Of perished states he mournVl in their decline, 
And I in desolation. All that teas 
410 Of then destruction is; and now, alas I 

Eome — Eome imperial, bows her to the storm, 
In the same dust and blackness, and we pass 
The skeleton of her Titanic form. 
Wrecks of another world whose ashes still are warm. 

XLVII. 

415 Yet, Italy ! through every other land 

Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side ; 
Mother of Arts, as once of arms ; thy hand 
Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ; 
Parent of our Eeligion, whom the wide 

420 K'ations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! 
Europe, repentant of her parricide. 
Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backvv^ard driven, 
EoU the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. 



130 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

XLYIII. 

But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, 
425 Where the Etrurian x\thens claims and keeps 
A softer feeling for her fairy halls. 
Girt by her theatre of hills, she reaps 
Her corn and wine and oil, and Plenty leaps 
To laughing life with her redundant horn. 
430 Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps 
AYas modern Luxury of Commerce born, 
And buried Learning rose, redeemed to a new morn. 

XLIX. 

There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills 
The air around with beauty. We inhale 

435 The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils 
Part of its immortality ; the veil 
Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale 
We stand, and in that form and face behold 
What mind can make when Nature's self would fail ; 

440 And to the fond idolaters of old 

Envy the innate flash which such a soul could mould. 



We gaze and turn away, and know not where, 
Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart 
Peels with its fulness ; there — for ever there — 
445 Chained to the chariot of triumphal Art, 
We stand as captives and would not depart. 
iVway ! — there need no words nor terms precise. 
The paltry jargon of the marble mart 
Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes : 



CHILDE HAEOLD 131 

450 Bloody pulse, and breast confirm the Dardan Sheplierd^s 
prize. 

LI. 

Appear^dst thon not to Paris in this guise ? 
Or to more deeply blest Anchises ? or, 
In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies 
Before thee thy own vanquished Lord of War? 
455 And gazing in thy face as toward a star, 
Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, 
Feeding on thy sweet cheek ; while thy lips are . 
With lava kisses melting while they burn, 
ShowerM on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from 
an urn ! 

LIT. 

460 Glowing and circumfused in speechless love, 
Their full divinity inadequate 
That feeling to express or to improve, 
The gods become as mortals, and man^s fate 
Has moments like their brightest ; but the weight 

465 Of earth recoils upon us ; — let it go ! 
We can recall such visions, and create. 
From what has been or mJght be, things which grow 
Into thy statue's form and look like gods below. 

. LIII. 

I leave to learned fingers and wise hands, 
470 The artist and his ape, to teach and tell 
How well his connoisseurship understands 
The graceful bend and the voluptuous swell : 
Let these describe the undescribable ; 
I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream 



132 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

475 "Wherein that image shall for ever dwells 
The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream 
That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. 

LIV. 

In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie 
Ashes which make it holier, dust which is 

480 Even in itself an immortality, 

Though there were nothing save the past, and this, 
The particle of those sublimities 
Which have relapsed to chaos : here repose 
Angelo^s, Alfieri^s bones, and his, 

485 The starry Galileo, with his woes ; 

Here Maeliiavelli^s earth returned to whence it rose. 

LV. 

These are four minds, which, like the elements, 

Might furnish forth creation. Italy ! 

Time, vrhich hath wronged thee with ten thousand 
rents 
490 Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, 

And hath denied, to every other sky 

Spirits which soar from ruin : — thy decay 

Is still impregnate with divinity, 

Which gilds it with revivifying ray ; 
495 Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. 

LVI. 

But where repose the all Etruscan three — 
Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they, 
The Bard of Prose, creative spirit, he 
Of the Hundred Tales of love — where did they lay 



CHILDE HAEOLD 13 3 

500 Their bones^ distinguisli'cl from our common clay 
In death as life ? x\re they resolved to dust, 
And have their countrj^^s marbles nought to say ? 
Conld not her quarries furnish forth one bust ? 
Did they not to her breast their filial earth intrust ? 

LVII. 

505 Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar, 
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ; 
Thy factions, in their worse than civil v^ar, 
Proscribed the bard vhose name for evermore 
Their children's children would in vain adore 

510 With the remorse of ages ; and the crown 

Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, 
Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, 
His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine 
own. 

LVIII. 

Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeathed 
515 His dust ; and lies it not her Great among, 

With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed 
O'er him who f orm'd the Tuscan's siren tongue ? 
That music in itself, whose sounds are song, 
The poetry of speech ? ISTo ; — even his tomb 
520 Uptorn must bear the hj^aena bigot's wrong, 
'No more amidst the meaner dead find room, 
Xor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom! 

LIX. 

And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust, — 
Yet for this want more noted, as of yore 
525 The Cesar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, 



134 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

Did but of Eome's best Son remind her more. 
Happier Eavenna ! on thy hoary shore^ 
Fortress of falling empire, honoured sleeps 
The immortal exile ; Arqua, too, her store 
530 Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps, 

While Florence vainly begs her banished dead, and 
weeps. 

LX. 

What is her jDyramid of precious stones^ 
Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues 
Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones 

535 Of merchant-dukes? The momentary dews 
Which, sparkling to the twilight stars, infuse 
Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead, 
Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, 
Are gently prest with far more reverent tread 

540 Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. 

LXI. 

There be more things to greet the heart and eyes 
In Arno's dome of Art^s most princely shrine, 
AYhere Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; 
There be more marvels yet — but not for mine ; 
545 For I have been accustomVl to entwine 

My thoughts with N'ature rather in the fields. 
Than Art in galleries : though a work divine 
Calls for my spirit^s homage, yet it yields 
Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields 

LXII. 

550 Is of another' temper, and I roam 
By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles 



chii.de haeold 135 

Fatal to Eoman rashness^ more at home ; 
For there the Carthaginian^s warlike wiles 
Come loack before me^ as his skill beguiles 
555 The host between the mountains and the shore, 
AYhere Courage falls in her despairing files^ 
And torrents^ swollen to rivers with their gore^ 
Eeek through the sultry plain with legions shattered o'er^ 

LXIII. 

Like to a forest felFd by mountain winds; 
560 And such the storm of battle on this daj^^ 

And such the frenzy^ whose convulsion blinds 

To all save carnage^ that, beneath the fray, 

An earthquake reel'd unheededly away ! 

N'one felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, 
565 And yawning forth a grave for those who lay 

Upon their bucklers for a vrinding sheet ; 
Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet ! 

LXIV. 

The Earth to them was as a rolling bark 
Which l)ore them to Eternity ; they saw 

570 The Ocean round, but had no time to mark 
The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, 
In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe 
AYhich reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds 
Plunge in the clouds for refuge and withdraw 

575 From their down-toppling nests ; and bellowing herds 
Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no 
words. 

LXY. 

Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; 
Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain 



136 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Eent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; 

58« Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain 

Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta^en — 
A little rill of scanty stream and bed — 
A name of blood from that day^s sanguine rain ; 
And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead 

585 Made the earth wet and turned the unwilling w^aters red. 

LXVI. 

But thou^ Clitumnus^ in thy sweetest wave 
Of the most living crystal that was e'er 
The haunt of river njmiph, to gaze and lave 
Her limbs where nothing hid thern^ thou dost rear 
590 Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer 
Grazes^ — the purest god of gentle v/aters. 
And most serene of aspect^ and most clear ! 
Surely that stream was unprof aned by slaughters — 
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! 

LXVII. 

595 And on thy happy shore a Temple still. 
Of small and delicate proportion, keeps. 
Upon a mild declivity of hill, 
Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps 
Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps 

600 The finny darter with the glittering scales, 
Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; 
While, chance, some scattered water-lily sails 
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling 
tales. 



CHILDE HAEOLD I37 

LXYIII. 

Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! 

605 If through the air a zephyr more serene 
Win to the brow, 't is his ; and if 5^0 trace 
Along his margin a more eloquent green, 
If on the heart the freshness of the scene 
Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust 

610 Of vreary life a moment lave it clean 

AVith Xatnre^s baptism, — ^t is to him ye must 
Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. 

LXIX. 

The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height 
Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; 

615 The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 

The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; 
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat 
Of their great agony, wrung out from this 

620 Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 

LXX. 

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
Eeturns in an unceasing shower, which round, 
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, 

625 Is an eternal April to the ground. 

Making it all one emerald : — how profound 
The gulf ! and how the giant element 
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound. 
Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 

630 With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent 



138 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

LXXI. 

To the broad column which rolls on^ and shows 
More like the fountain of an infant sea 
Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes 
Of a new worlds than only thus to be 
635 Parent of rivers^ which flow gushingly, 

With many windings^, through the vale : — Look back ! 
Lo^ where it comes like an eternity, 
As if to sweep down all things in its track, 
Charming the eye with dread — a matchless cataract, 

LXXII. 

640 Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge, 

From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, 
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, 
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
Its steady dyes while all around is torn 

645 By the distracted waters, bears serene 

Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn; 
Eesembling, ^nid the torture of the scene, 
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. 

LXXIII. 

Once more upon the woody Apennine, 
650 The infant Alps, which — had I not before 

Gazed on their mightier parents, where the pine 
Sits on more shaggy summits, and where roar 
The thundering lauwine — might be worshipped more ; 
But I have seen the soaring Jungfrau rear 
655 Her never-trodden snow, and seen the hoar 

Glaciers of bleak Jlont Blanc both far and near, 
And in Chimari heard the thunder-hills of fear, 



CHILDE HAEOLD I39 

LXXIY. 

Th' AcroceraTinian mountains of old name; 
And on Parnassus seen the eagles fly 

660 Like spirits of the spot^ as ^t were for f ame^ 
For still they soared unutterably high : 
IVe looked on Ida with a Trojan^s ej^e; 
Athos, 01}'mpus^ ^tna^ Atlas^ made 
These hills seem things of lesser dignity, 

665 All, save the lone Soracte^s height, displayed 
Not noiv in snow, which asks the h^ric Eoman's aid 

LXXV. 

For our remembrance, and from out the plain 
Heaves like a long-swept wave about to break. 
And on the curl hangs pausing. Not in vain 

570 May he, who will, his*recollections rake, 
And quote in classic raptures, and awake 
The hills with Latin echoes ; I abhorred 
Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake. 
The driird dull lesson, forced down word by word 

575 In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record 

LXXVI. 

Aught that recalls the daily drug which turned 
My sickening memory ; and, though Time hath taught 
My mind to meditate what then it learned. 
Yet such the fixM inveteracy wrought 
580 By the impatience of my early thought. 

That, with the freshness wearing out before 
My mind could relish what it might have sought. 
If free to choose, I cannot now restore 
Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor. 



140 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

LXXVII. 

685 Then farewell;, Horace ; whom I hated so, 
Xot for thy faults^ but mine ; it is a curse 
To "understand, not feel thy lyric flow, 
To comprehend, but never love thy verse. 
Although no deeper Moralist rehearse 

690 Our little life, nor Bard prescribe his art, 
Xor livelier Satirist the conscience pierce, 
Awakening without wounding the toucVd heart ; 
Yet fare thee well — upon Soracte's ridge we part. 

LXXVIII. 

Oh Eome, my country ! city of tjie soul ! 

695 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
Lone mother of dead empires, and control 
In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
What are our woes and sufferance? Come and see 
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 

700 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples. Ye ! 
Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 

LXXIX. 

The Xiobe of nations ! there she stands. 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe ; 

705 An empty urn within her w^ither'd hands. 
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : 
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers ; — dost thou flow, 

710 Old Tiber, through a marble wilderness ? 

Else, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! 



CHILDE HAEOLD 141 

LXXX. 

The Goth^ the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven-hilPd city^s pride ; 
She saw her glories star by star expire, 

715 And np the steep barbarian monarchs ride 

Where the car climbed the capitol ; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — 
Chaos of rnins ! who shall trace the void. 
O'er the dim fragments cast a limar light, 

?20 And say, ^here was, or is,' where all is doubly night? 

LXXXI. 

The double night of ages, and of her, 
Mghf s daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap 
All round us ; we but feel our way to err : 
The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, 
I2h And Knowledge spreads them on her ample lap ; 
But Eome is as the desert where we steer 
Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap 
Our hands, and cry ^Eureka !' it is clear — 
When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. 

LXXXII. 

m Alas, the lofty city ! and alas, 

The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 
The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! 
Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, 

735 And Liyy's pictured page ! — but these shall be 
Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
That briVhtness in her eye she bore when Eome was free ! 



143 SHORTEK ENGLISH POl^MS 

LXXXIII. 

Oh thou^ whose chariot rolFd on Fortune's wheel, 
740 Triumphant Sylla ! thou, who didst subdue 

Thy country's foes ere thou wouldst pause to feel 
The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the due 
Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew 
O'er prostrate Asia ; — thou, who with thy frown 
745 Annihilated senates — Eoman, too. 

With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down 
With an atoning smile a more than earthly crown, 

LXXXIV. 

The dictatorial wreath, — couldst thou divine 
To what would one day dwindle that which made 

750 Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine 

By aught than Eomans Eome should thus be laid ? 
She who was named Eternal ; and array'd 
Her warriors but to conquer — she who veil'd 
Earth with her haughty shadow, and displayed, 

755 Until the o'er-canopied horizon f ail'd. 

Her rushings wings — Oh, she who was Almighty hail'd ! 

LXXXV. 

Sylla was first of victors ; but our own 
The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell ; he 
Too swept off senates while he hew'd the throne 
760 Down to a block — immortal rebel ! See 
What crimes it costs to be a moment free 
And famous through all ages ! but beneath 
His fate the moral lurks of destiny ; 
His day of double victory and death 



CHTLDE HAEOLD I45 

765 Beheld him win two realms^ and^ happier^ yield his 
breath. 

LXXXYI. 

The third of the same moon whose former course 
Had all bnt crowned him^, on the self-same day 
Deposed him gently from his throne of force, 
And laid him with the earth^s preceding clay. 
770 And showed not Fortune thus how fame and sway, 
And all we deem delightful and consume 
Our souls to compass through each arduous way, 
Are in her eyes less happy than the tomb ? 
Were they but so in man^s, how diJfferent were his doom ? 

LXXXYII. 

775 And thou, dread statue, yet existent in 
The austerest form of naked majesty ! 
Thou who beheldest, ^mid the assassins^ din. 
At thy bathed base the bloody Caesar lie. 
Folding his robe in dying dignity, 

780 An offering to thine altar from the queen 

Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die. 

And thou, too, perish, Pompey ? have ye been 

Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene ? 

LXXXVIII. 

And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Eome !* 
m She-wolf, whose brazen-imaged dugs impart 
The milk of conquest yet within the dome 
Where, as a monument of antique art, 
Thou standest ; mother of the mighty heart. 
Which the great founder sucked from thy wild teat, 
^90 Scorch'd by the Eoman Jove^s ethereal dart. 



144 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

And thy limbs black with lightning — dost thou yet 
Guard thine immortal cnbs, nor thy fond charge forget ? 

LXXXIX. 

Thou dost ; but all thy foster-babes are dead — 
The men of iron ; and the world hath reared 

795 Cities from out their sepulchres. Men bled 
In imitation of the things they fear'd 
And fought and conquered and the same course 

steer d^ 
At apish distance ; but as yet none have^ 
Nor could the same supremacy have near'd, 

800 Save one vain man^ who is not in the grave, 

But vanquished by himself, to his own slaves a slave — 

xc. 

The fool of false dominion — and a kind 
Of bastard Caesar, following him of old 
With steps unequal ; for the Soman's mind 

805 Was modeled in a less terrestrial mould, 
With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, 
And an immortal instinct which redeemed 
The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold, 
Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd 

810 At Cleopatra^s feet, — and now himself he beamed, 

XCI. 

And came — and saw — and conquered. But the man 
Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee. 
Like a trained falcon, in the Gallic van. 
Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, 
815 With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be 



CHILDE HABOLD 145 

A listener to itself, was strano^eiy framed ; 



^ ) 



With but one weakest weakness — vanit}^^ 
Coquettish in ambition — still he aim'd — 
At what ? can he avouch — or answ^er what he claimed ? — 

XCII. 

820 And would be all or nothing — nor could wait 
For the sure grave to level him ; few years 
Had fix^d him with the Caesars in his f ate^ 
On whom we tread. For this the conqueror rears 
The arch of triumph ! and for this the tears 

825 And blood of earth flow on as they have flowed, 
An universal deluge^ which appears 
Without an ark for wretched man^s abode. 
And ebbs but to refiow ! -7- Eenew thy rainbow, God ! 

XCIII. 

What from this barren being do we reap ? 

830 Our senses narrow, and our reason frail, 

Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, 
And all things weighed in custom^s falsest scale ; 
Opinion an omnipotence, — whose veil 
Mantles the earth with darkness, until right 

835 And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale 

Lest their own judgments should become too bright, 
And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too 
much light. 

XCIY. . 

And thus they plod in sluggish miser}-, 
Eotting from sire to son, and age to age, 
840 Proud of their trampled nature, and so die, 
Bequeathing their hereditary rage 



146 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

To the new race of inborn slaves^ who wage 
War for their chains^ and ratlier than be free. 
Bleed giadiator-Iike^ and still engage 
845 Within the same arena where they see 

Their fellows fall before^ like leaves of the same tree. 

xcv. 

I speak not of men^s creeds — they rest between 
Man and his Maker — but of things allow^d^ 
Averred, and known — and daily, hourly seen — 

850 The yoke that is upon us doubly bow^d 
And the intent of tyranny avowed, 
The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown 
The apes of him who humbled once th^ proud 
And shook them from their slumbers on the throne ; 

855 Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. 

XCVI. 

Can tjTants but by tyrants conquered be, 
And Freedom find no champion and no child 
Such as Columbia saw arise when she 
Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled ? 
860 Or must such minds be nourished in the wild. 
Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar 
Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled 
On infant Washington ? Has Earth no more 
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ? 

XCVII. 

865 But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, 
And fatal have her Saturnalia been 
To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime ; 



CHILDE HAEOLD 147 

Because the deadly daj^s which we have seen, 
And vile Ambition^ that built up between 
870 Man and his hopes an adamantine wall. 
And the base pageant last npon the scene. 
Are grown the pretext for the eternal thrall 
Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — his 
second fall. 

XCVIII. 

Yet, Freedom, yet thy banner, torn bnt flying, 
875 Streams like the thnnder-storm against the wind ; 
Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying. 
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind : 
Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind. 
Chopped by the axe, looks rough and little worth, 
880 But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find 
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North ; 
So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth^ 

xcix. 

There is a stern round tower of other days, 
Firm as a fortress, with its fence of stone, 

885 Such as an army's baffled strength delays. 
Standing with half its battlements alone. 
And with two thousand years of ivy grown, 
The garland of eternity, where wave 
The green leaves over all by time overthrown ; — - 

890 What was this tower of strength? within its cave 
\ATiat treasure lay so locked, so hid ? A woman's grave*. 



But who was she, the lady of the dead, 
Tomb'd in a palace ? Was she chaste and fair ? 



148 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Worthy a king^s — or more — a Eoman^s bed ? 

895 What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear? 
What daughter of her beauties was the heir? 
How livedo how loved^ how died she ? Was she not 
So honoured — and conspicnonsty there^ 
Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, 

800 Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot? 

CI. 

Was she as those who love their lords, or they 
Who love the lords of others ? — snch have been 
Even in the olden time, Eome^s annals say. 
Was she a matron of Cornelians mien, 
905 Or the light air of Egypfs graceful queen. 
Profuse of joy — or Against it did she war, 
Inveterate in virtue? did she lean 
To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar 
Love from amongst her griefs ? — for such the affec- 
tions are. 

CII. 

910 Perchance she died in youth : it may be, bow'd 
With woes far heavier than the ponderous tomb 
That weighed upon her gentle dust, a cloud 
Might gather o^er her beauty, and a gloom 
In her dark eye, prophetic of the doom 

915 Heaven gives its favourites — early death ; yet shed 
A sunset charm around her, and illume 
With hectic light, the Hesperus of the dead. 
Of her consuming cheek the autumnal leaf-like red. 

cm. 

Perchance she died in age — surviving all, 
920 Charms, kindred, children — with the silver gray 



CHILDE HAEOLD 149 

On her long tresses, which might yet recall, 
It may be, still a something of the day 
When they were braided, and her proud array 
And lovely form were envied, praised, and eyed 
925 By Eome. — Bnt whither would Conjecture stray? 
Thus much alone we know — Metella died, 
The wealthiest Eoman^s vrife. Behold his love or pride ! 

CIV. 
I know not why, but standing thus by thee, 
It seems as if I had thine inmate knowm, 

930 Thon tomb ! and other days come back on me 
With recollected music, though the tone 
Is changed and solemn, like the clondy groan 
Of dying thunder on the distant wind ; 
Yet could I seat me by this ivied stone 

935 Till I had bodied, forth the heated mind. 

Forms from the floating wreck which Euin leaves 
behind ; 

cv. 
And from the planks, far shattered o'er the rocks. 
Built me a little bark of hope, once more 
To battle with the ocean and the shocks 

940 Of the loud breakers, and the ceaseless roar 
Which rushes on the solitary shore 
Where all lies foundered that was ever dear. 
But could I gather from the w^ave-worn store 
Enough for my rude boat, where should I steer ? 

945 There woos no home, nor hope, nor life, save what is here. 

cvi. 
Then let the winds howl on ! their harmony 
Shall henceforth be my music, and the night 



150 SHORTER EXGLISH POEMS 

The sound shall temper with the owlets^ cry, 
As I now hear them, in the fading light 
953 Dim o'*er the bird of darkness^ native site, 
Answering each other on the Palatine, 
With their large eyes all glistening gray and bright, 
And sailing pinions. Upon snch a shrine 
"What are onr petty griefs? — let me not number mine. 

CVII. 

855 Cj73ress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown 
Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd 
On what were chambers, arch crushed, column strown 
In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd 
In subterranean damps where the owl peeped, 

960 Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? 
Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reaped 
From her research hath been, that these are walls — 
Behold the Imperial Mount! ^t is thus the mighty falls. 

CVIII. 

There is the moral of all human tales ; 

965 'T is but the same rehearsal of the past. 

First Freedom and then Glory — when that fails, 
Wealth, vice, corruption, — barbarism at last. 
And Historj', with all her volumes vast. 
Hath but one page, — His better written here 

970 Where gorgeous Tyranny hath thus amass'd 
All treasures, all delights, that eye or ear, 
Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask. — Away with words, 
draw near. 



CHILDE HAROLD 151 

CIX. 

Admire^ exult, despise, laiigh, weep, — for here 
There is such matter for all feeling : — ilan ! 
975 Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear, 
Ages and realms are crowded in this span, 
This mountain, whose obliterated plan 
The pyramid of empires pinnacled, 
Of Glory's goAVgaws shining in the van 
980 Till the sun^s rays with added flame were filFd! 
Where are its golden roofs? where those who dared to 
build? 

ex. 

Tully was not so eloquent as thou, 

Thou nameless column with the buried base! 

AVhat are the laurels of the Csesar^s brow? 

985 Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. 
Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, 
Titus' or Trajan's? Xo — 'tis that of Tim^e: 
Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace 
Scoffing: and apostolic statues climb 

990 To crush the imperial urn whose ashes slept sublime, 

CXI. 

Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Eome, 
And looking to the stars. They had contain'd 
A spirit which with these would find a home. 
The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign' d, 
995 The Eoman globe, for after none sustain'd 
But yielded back his conquests : he was more 
Than a mere. Alexander, and, unstain'd 



152 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

AVitli household blood and wine^ serenely wore 
His sovereign virtues — still vre Trajan's name adorCc 

CXII. 

1000 AYhere is the rock of Triumph^ the high place 

Vvliere Eome embraced her heroes ? v\^here the steep 
Tarpeian^ fittest goal of Treason's race. 
The promontor)' whence the Traitor's Leap 
Cnred all ambition? Did the conquerors heap 

1005 Their spoils here? Yes; and in 5^on field below, 
A thousand j^ears of silenced factions sleep — 
The Forum, where the immortal accents glow, 
And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero ! 

CXIII. 

The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood: 
1010 Here a proud people's passions were exhaled, 

From the first hour of empire in the bud 

To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd; 

But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd, 

And Anarchy assumed her attributes; 
1015 Till every lawless soldier who assail'd 

Trod on the trembling senate's slavish mutes^ 
Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. 

cxiv. 

Then turn me to her latest tribune's name, 
From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, 
1020 Eedeemer of dark centuries of shame — 
The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy — 
Eienzi ! last of Eomans ! AVhile the tree 
Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a leaf 



CHILDE HAKOLD 153 

Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — 
1025 The foriim^s champion^ and the people's chief — 
Her ne^.v-born Xnnia thon — with reign^ alas^ too brief. 

cxv. 

Egeria^ SAveet creation of some heart 
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair 
As thine ideal breast ! whatever thon art 

1030 Or wert^ — a 3^oung Aurora of the air^ 
The nympholepsy of some fond despair; 
Or^ it might be^ a beauty of the earthy 
Who found a more than common yotary there 
Too much adoring; whatsoever thy birth, 

1035 Thou wert a beautiful thought^ and softly bodied forth. 

cxyi. 

The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkled 
With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face 
Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, 
Eeflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, 
1040 AVhose green, wild margin now no more erase 

Arfs works; nor must the delicate waters sleep. 
Prisoned in marble; bubbling from the base 
Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap 
The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy 
creep, 

CXVII. 

1045 Fantastically tangled. The green hills 

Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass 
The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 
Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; 



154: SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Flowers fresh in line, and many in their class, 
1050 Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 
Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; 
The sweetness of the violet^s deep blue eyes 
Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems coloured by its 
skies. 

CXVIII. 

Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, 
1055 Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating 

Eor the far footsteps of thy mortal lover. 

The purple Midnight veiFd that mystic meeting 

With her most starry canopy; and seating 

Thyself by thine adorer, what befell? 
1060 This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting 

Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell 
Haunted by holy Love — the earliest oracle! 

cxix. 

And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying. 
Blend a celestial with a human heart; 

1065 And Love, which dies as it was born, in sighing, 
Share with immortal transports? Could thine art 
Make them indeed immortal, and impart 
The purity of heaven to earthly joys. 
Expel the venom and not blunt the dart — 

1070 The dull satiety which all destroys — 

And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys ? 

cxx. 

Alas ! our young affections run to waste, 

Or water but the desert; whence arise 

But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, 



CHILDE HAEOLD I55 

1075 Bank at the core^ though tempting to the eyes^ 
Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies^ 
And trees whose gums are poison ; — such the plants 
AYhich spring beneath her steps as Passion flies 
O'er the world's wilderness^ and vainly pants 

1080 For som^e celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. 

CXXI. 

Oh Love I no habitant of earth thou art — 
An unseen seraph^ we believe in thee, 
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, 
But never yet hath seen, nor e^er shall see 
1085 The naked eye, thy form, as it should be; 

The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, 
Even with its own desiring phantasy. 
And to a thought such shape and image given. 
As haunts the unquench^d soul — parclrd — wearied — 
wrung — and riven. 

CXXII. 

1090 Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, 
And fevers into false creation : — where, 
Where are the forms the sculptor^s soul hath seized ? — 
In him alone. Can ISTature show so fair? 
AYhere are the charms and virtues which we dare 

1095 Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men, 
The unreach'd Paradise of our despair, 
AYhich o^er-informs the pencil and the pen. 
And overpowers the page where it would bloom again? 

- CXXIII. 

AYho loves, raves — ^t is youth^s frenzy; but the cure 
1100 Is bitterer still. As charm by charm unwinds 



156 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

"Which robed our idols, and we see too sure 
Xor worth nor beautj^ d^vells from out the mind's 
Ideal shape of such; yet still it binds 
The fatal spell, and still it draws ns on, 
1105 Eeaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds; 
The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, 
Seems ever near the prize, — wealthiest when most 
undone. 

CXXIV. 

AVe wither from our youth, we gasp away — 

Sick — sick ; unf ound the boon — unslaked the thirsty 

1110 Though to the last, in verge of our decaj-, 

Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — 
But all too late, — so are we doubly curst. 
Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 't is the same, 
Each idle, and all ill, and none the worst — 

1115 For all are meteors with a different name. 

And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame. 

cxxv. 

Few — none — find what they love or could have 
loved. 

Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 

Xecessity of loving, have removed 
1120 Antipathies — but to recur, ere long. 

Envenomed with irrevocable wrong; 

And Circumstance, that unspiritual god 

And miscreator, makes and helps along 

Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, 
1125 Whose touch turns Hope to dust, — the dust we all 
have trod. 



CHILDE HAEOLD 15 7 

CXXYI. 

Our life is a false nature, ^t is not in 
The harmony of things, — this hard decree^ 
This uneradicable taint of sin, 
This boundless upas, this all-blasting tree 
1130 AAliose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be 

The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — > 
Disease, death, bondage — all the woes we see — 
And worse, the woes we see not — which throb 
through 
The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. 

CXXVII. 

1135 Yet let us ponder boldly ; ^t is a base 
Abandonment of reason to resign 
Our right of thought, our last and only place 
Of refuge — this, at least, shall still be mine. 
Though from our birth the faculty divine 

lU) Is chained and tortured — cabined, cribb'd, confined. 
And bred in darkness, lest the truth should shine 
Too brightly on the unprepared mind. 
The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the 
blind. 

CXXYIII. 

Arches on arches ! as it were that Eome, 
1145 Collecting the chief trophies of her line, 

"Would build up all her triumphs in one dome, — 
Her Coliseum stands; the moonbeams shine 
As ^t were its natural torches, for divine 
Should be the light which streams here, to illume 
1150 This long-explored but still exhaustless mine 



158 SHOETEK ENGLISH POEMS 

Of contemplation: and the aznre gloom 
Of an Italian nighty where the deep skies assume 

CXXIX. 

Hues which have words and speak to ye of heaven 
Floats o^er this vast and wondrons monument, 

1155 And shadows forth its glory. There is given 
Unto the things of earthy which Time hath bent, 
•A spirit^s feeling; and where he hath leant 
His hand^ bnt broke his scythe, there is a power, 
xlnd magic in the ruined battlement, 

1160 For which the palace of the present hour 

Must yield its pomp and wait till ages are its dower. 

cxxx. 

Oh, Time ! the beantifier of the dead, 

Adorner of the ruin, comforter 

And only healer when the heart hath bled — 

1165 Time ! the corrector where onr judgments err. 
The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher. 
For all besides are sophists, from thy thrift 
"Which never loses though it doth defer — 
Time, the avenger ! unto thee I lift 

1170 My hands and eyes and heart, and crave of thee a gift : 

CXXXI. 

Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine 
And temple more divinely desolate. 
Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, 
Euins of years — though few, yet full of fate: — 
1175 If thou hast ever seen me too elate. 

Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne 



CHILDE HAEOLD 159 

Good^ and reserved my pride against the hate 
"Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn 
This iron in my sonl in vain — shall tliey not mourn? 

CXXXII. 

1180 And thon, who never yet of human wrong 
Left the unbalanced scale, great Xemesis ! 
Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long — 
Thon, who didst call the Furies from the abyss, 
And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss 

1185 For that unnatural retribution — just. 

Had it but been from hands less near — in this 
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust! 
Dost thou not hear my heart ? — Awake ! thou shalt, 
and must. 

CXXXIII. 

It is not that I may not have incurred 
1190 For my ancestral faults or mine the wound 

I bleed withal, and, had it been conferred 

With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound; 

But now my blood shall not sink in the ground; 

To thee I do devote it — tliou shalt take 
1195 The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, 

"^Miich if I have not taken for the sake — 
But let that pass — I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. 

CXXXIV. 

And if my voice break forth, ^t is not that now 
I shrink from what is suffered; let him speak 
1200 Who hath beheld decline upon mj brow. 
Or seen my mind^s convulsion leave it weak: 
But in this page a record will I seek. 



160 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Xot in the air shall these my words disperse, 
Though I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak 
1205 The deep prophetic fulness of this verse, 

And pile on human heads the mountain of my curse ! 

cxxxv. 

That curse shall be Forgiveness. . Have I not — 
Hear me^ my mother Earth! behold it, Heaven! — 
Have I not had to wrestle with my lot? 

1210 Have I not suffered things to be forgiven ? 

Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, 
Hopes sapp'd, name blighted. Lifers life lied away? 
And only not to desperation driven, 
Because not altogether of such clay 

1215 As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. 

CXXXVI. 

From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy 
Have I not seen what human things could do? 
From the loud roar of foaming -^calumny 
To the small whisper of the as paltry few, 
1220 And subtler venom of the reptile crew, 

The Janus glance of whose significant eye. 
Learning to lie with silence, would seem true, 
And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, 
Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. 

CXXXVII. 

1225 But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: 
My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire. 
And my frame perish even in conquering pain; 
But there is that within me which shall tire 



CHILDE HAEOLD 161 

Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire; 
1230 Something unearthly which they deem not of, 
Like the remembered tone of a mnte lyre, 
Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move 
In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. 

CXXXVIII. 

The seal is set. — Xow welcome, thon dread power ! 

1235 Xameless, j^et thus omnipotent, which here 

AYalk^st in the shadow of the midnight hour 
With a deep avre, yet all distinct from fear ; 
Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 

1240 Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear 
That we become a part of what has been, 
And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. 

CXXXIX. 

And here the buzz of eager nations ran. 
In murmured pity or loud-roared applause, 

1245 As man was slaughtered by his fellow man. 

And wherefore slaughtered? wherefore, but because 
Such were the bloody Circuse genial laws. 
And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not? 
What matters where we fall to fill the maws 

1250 Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot ? 
Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. 

CXL. 

I see before me the Gladiator lie: 

He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 

Consents to death, but conquers agony. 



162 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

1255 And his drooped head sinks gradually low — 

And through his side the last drops^ ebbing slow 
Prom the red gash^ fall heavy^ one by one^ 
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone^ 

1260 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch 
who won. 

CXLI. 

He heard it^ but he heeded not — his eyes 
Were with his hearty and that was far away; 
He recked not of the life he lost nor prize^ 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay^ 
1265 Tliere were his young barbarians all at plaj^, 

There was their Dacian mother — he^ their sire^ 
Butcher'd to make a Eoman holiday — 
All this rush'd with his blood. — Shall he expire 
And unavenged ? — Arise ! je Goths^ and glut your ire ! 

CXLII. 

1270 But here^ where Murder breathed her bloody steam; 
And therC;, where buzzing nations choked the ways, 
And roared or murmured like a mountain stream 
Dashing or winding as its torrent strays ; 
Here, where the Eoman millions^ blame or praise 

1275 Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd, 

My voice sounds much, and fall the stars' faint rays 
On the arena void — seats crushed — walls bow'd — 
And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely 
loud. 

CXLIII. 

A ruin — yet what ruin ! Prom its mass 
1280 Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared; 



CHILDE HAEOLD 163 

Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass^ 
And marvel where the spoil could have appeared. 
Hath it indeed been plunder^d^ or but cleared? 
Alas ! developed^ opens the decaj^^ 
1285 When the colossal f abric^s form is near^d : 
It will not bear the brightness of the day, 
Which streams too much on all, j^ears, man have reft 
away. 

CXLIY. 

But when the rising moon begins to climb 
Its topmost arch and gently pauses there; 

1290 When the stars twinkle through the loops of time. 
And the low night-breeze waves along the air 
The garland forest, which the gray walls wear 
Like laurels on the bald first Caesar^s head; 
AVhen the light shines serene but doth not glare, 

1295 Then in this magic circle raise the dead: 

Heroes have trod this spot — ^t is on their dust je tread, 

CXLV. 

^While stands the Coliseum, Eome shall stand; 

When falls the Coliseum, Eome shall fall ; 

And when Eome falls — the World/ From our own 
land 
1300 Thus spake the pilgrims o^er this mighty wall 

In Saxon times, which we are wont to call 

Ancient; and these three mortal things are still 

On their foundations, and unalter^l all; 

Eome and her Euin past Eedemption^s skill, 
1305 The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what 
j^e-wdll. 



164: SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

CXLVI. 

Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — 
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods, 
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ; 
Looking tranquilitj^, while falls or nods 
1310 Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods 
His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! 
Shalt thou not last ? Timers scythe and tyrants^ rods 
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home 
Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Eome ! 

CXLVII. 

1315 Eelic of nobler days and noblest arts ! 

Despoil'd, yet perfect, with thy circle spreads 
A holiness appealing to all hearts — 
To art a model; and to him who treads 
Eome for the sake of ages, Gloiy sheds 

1320 Her light through Vaj sole aperture; to those 
Who worship, here are altars for their beads; 
And they who feel for genius may repose 
Their eyes on honoured forms whose busts around them 
close. 

CXLVIII. 

There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light 
1325 AVhat do I gaze on ? Xothing : Look again ! 
Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight — 
Two insulated phantoms of the brain : 
It is not so; I see them full and plain — 
An old man, and a female young and fair, 
1330 Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein 

The blood is nectar; — l)ut what doth she there 
With her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare? 



CHILDE HAEOLD 165 

CXLIX. 

Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life^ 
Where on the heart and from the heart we took 

1335 Our first and sweetest nurture^ when the wife, 
Blest into mother, in the innocent look 
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook 
Xo pain and small suspense, a joy perceives 
Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook 

1340 She sees her little bud put forth its leaves — 

What may the fruit be yet? — I know not, Cain was 
Eve's. 

CL. 

But here youth offers to old age the food, 
The milk of his own gift : — it is her sire 
To whom she renders back the debt of blood 

1345 Born with her birth. Xo; he shall not expire 
While in those warm and lovely veins the fire 
Of health and holy feeling can provide 
Great Nature's IsTile, whose deep stream rises higher 
Than Egypt's river : — from that gentle side 

1350 Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm holds 
no such tide. 

CLI. 

The starry fable of the milky way 
Has not thy story's purity; it is 
A constellation of a sweeter ray. 
And sacred Xature triumphs more in this 
1355 Eeverse of her decree than in the abyss 

Where sparkle distant worlds. Oh, holiest nurse I 
Xo drop of that clear stream its way shall miss 



166 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

To tlij sirens hearty replenishing its source 
AYitli life^ as our freed souls rejoin the nniverse. 

CLII. 

1360 Turn to the Mole which Hadrian reared on high, 
Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles, 
Colossal copyist of deformitj^ 
Whose traveird phantasy from the far IvTile's 
Enormous model doomed the artist's toils 

1365 To build for giants, and for his vain earth, 

His shrunken ashes, raise this dome. How smiles 
The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth. 
To view the huge design which sprung from such a 
birth ! 

CLIII. 

But lo, the dome, the vast and wondrous dome 

1370 To which Diana's marvel was a cell, 

Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! 
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — 
Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell 
The hygena and the jackal in their shade; 

1375 I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell 

Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd 
Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd; 

CLIV. 

But thou, of temples old or altars new, 
Standest alone, with nothing like to thee — 
1380 AVorthiest of God, the holy and the true. 
Since Zion's desolation, when that He 
Forsook liis foriucr city, what could be, 



CHILDE HAEOLD 167 

Of earthly structures^ in his honor piled 
Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty^ 
1385 Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 

CLY. 

Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 

And why? it is not lessened; but thy mind, 

Expanded by the genius of the spot, 
1390 Has grown colossal, and can only find 

A fit abode wherein appear enshrined 

Thy hopes of immortality; and thou 

Shalt one da}^, if found worthy, so defined, 

See thy God face to face as thou dost now 
1395 His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. 

CLVI. 

Thou movest — but increasing with the advance. 
Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, 
Deceived by its gigantic elegance; 
Yastness which grows, but grovv's to harmonise — 
1400 All musical in its immensities; 

Eich marbles, richer painting, shrines where flame 
The lamps of gold, and haughty dome which vies 
In air with Earth^s chief structures, though their 

frame 
Sits on the f^rm-set ground — and this the clouds must 

claim. 

CLYII. 

1405 Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break 
To separate contemplation the great whole ; 
And as the ocean many bays will make, 



168 SHORTER EXCtLISH POEMS 

That ask the eve — so here condense thy soul 
To more immediate objects^ and control 
1410 Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart 
Its eloquent proportions^ and unroll 
In mighty graduations^ part by part^ 
The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, 

CLVIII. 

Xot by its fault — but thine. Our outward sense 

1415 Is but of gradual grasp : and as it is 

That what we have of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression; even so this 
Outshining and overwhelming edifice 
Fools our fond gaze^, and greatest of the great 

1420 Defies at first our ISTature^s littleness, 

Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate 
Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. 

CLIX. 

Then pause, and be enlighten^l; there is more 
In such a survey than the sating gaze 

1425 Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
Of art and its great masters, who could raise 
What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan; 
The fountain of sublimity displays 

1430 Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 
Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. 

CLX. 

Or, turning to the Vatican, go see 
Laocoon's torture dignifying pain — 



CHILDE HAEOLD 169 

A father^s love and mortals agony 
1435 With an immortars patience blending. Vain 
The struggle ; vain^ against the coiling strain 
And gripe and deepening of the dragon's grasp, 
The old man's clench; the long envenom'd chain 
Eivets the living links, the enormous asp 
1440 Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. 

CLXI. 

Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, 
The God of life and poesy and light, — ■ 
The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow 
All radiant from his triumph in the fight; 
1445 The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright 
With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye 
And nostril beautiful disdain and might 
And majesty flash their full lightnings by, 
Developing in that one glance the Deity. 

. CLXII. 

1450 But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, 
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
Long'd for a deathless lover from above 
And madden'cl in that vision — are exprest 
All that ideal beauty ever bless'd 

1455 The mind with in its most unearthly mood, 

When each conception was a heavenly guest — 
A ray of immortality — and stood, 
Starlike, around, until they gather'd to a god ! 

CLXITI. 

And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven 
1460 The fire which we endure, it was repaid 



170 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

By him to whom the energy was given 
Which this poetic marble hath array'd 
With an eternal glory — which, if made 
By human hands, is not of hnman thought ; 
1465 And Time himself hath hallowed it, nor laid 
One ringlet in the dust; nor hath it caught 
A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with which 
^t was wrought. 

CLXIV. 

But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song. 
The being who upheld it through the past? 

1470 Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. 

He is no more — these breathings are his last ; 
His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, 
And he himself as nothing : — if he was 
Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd 

1475 With forms which live and suffer — let that pass — ■ 
His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, 

CLXV. 

Which gathers shadow, substance, life, and all 
That we inherit in its mortal shroud. 
And spreads the dim and universal pall 

1480 Through which all things grow phantoms; and the 
cloud 
Between us sinks and all which ever giow'd. 
Till Glory's self is twilight, and disj)lays 
A melancholy halo scarce allow'd 
To hover on the verge of darkness ; — rays 

1485 Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, 



chii.de haeold 171 

CLXVI. 

And send ns prying into the abyss, 
To gather what we shall be when the frame 
Shall be resolved to something less than this 
Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame, 
1490 And wijoe the dust from off the idle name 
We never more shall hear, — but never more, 
Oh, happier thought ! can we be made the same : 
It is enough in sooth that once we bore 
These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was 
gore. 

CLXVII. 

1495 Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, 
A long low distant murmur of dread sound, 
Such as arises when a nation bleeds 
With some deep and immedicable wound; 
Through storm and darkness yawns the rending 
ground ; 

1500 The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief 

Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd; 
And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief 
She clasps a babe to vrhom her breast yields no relief. 

CLXVIII. 

Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou? 
1505 Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead? 

Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low 

Some less majestic, less beloved head? 

In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled. 

The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy, 
1510 Death hush'd that pang for ever; with thee fled 



172 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

The present happiness and promised joy 
Which fiird the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. 

CLXIX. 

Peasants bring forth in safet}^ — Can it be^ 
Oh thon that wert so happy^ so adored ! 

1515 Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee, 

And Preedom^s heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard 
Her many griefs for One; for she had pourd 
Her orisons for thee, and o^er thy head 
Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord, 

1520 And desolate consort — vainly wert thon wed ! 
The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! 

CLXX. 

Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made; 

Thy bridaFs frnit is ashes; in the dust 

The fair-haired Daughter of the Isles is laid, 

1525 The love of millions ! How we did intrust 
Futurity to her ! and, though it must 
Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd 
Our children should obey her child, and bless'd 
Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd 

1530 Like stars to shepherds^ eyes : — ^t was but a meteor 
beamed. 

CLXXI. 

Woe unto ITS, not her ; for she sleeps well : 
The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue 
Of hollow counsel, the false oracle, 
AYhich from the birth of monarchy hath rung 
1^25 Its knell in princely ears till the o'er-stung 



CHILDE HAEOLD 173 

Nations have arm^d in madness^ the strange fate 
^Tiich tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung 
Against their blind ominipotence a weight 
Within the opposing scale which crushes soon or late, — • 

CLXXII. 

1540 These might have been her destiny; but no^ 
Our hearts deny it: and so young, so fair^ 
Good without effort, great without a foe; 
But now a bride and mother — and now there! 
How many ties did that stern moment tear ! 

1545 From thy Sirens to his humblest subject^s breast 
Is linked the electric chain of that despair, 
Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest 
The land which loved thee so that none could love thee 
best. 

CLXXIIT. 

Lo, ISTemi ! navelPd in the woody hills 
1550 So far, that the uprooting wind which tears 

The oak from his foundation, and which spills 
The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears 
Its foam against the skies, reluctant spares 
The oval mirror of thy glassy lake ; — 
1555 x\nd, calm as cherish'd hate, its surface wears 
A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake, 
All coiPd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. 

CLXXIV. 

And near Albano's scarce divided waves 
Shine from a sister valley; and afar 
1560 The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves 



174 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

The Latian coast where sprung the Epic war^ 
'Arms and the Man/ whose re-ascending star 
Eose o^er an empire: bnt beneath thy right 
Tiilly reposed from Eome; and where yon bar 
1565 Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight 

The Sabine farm was tilled, the weary bard^s delight. 

CLXXV. 

But I forget. — My Pilgrim^s shrine is won^ 
And he and 1 must part — so let it be : 
His task and mine alike are nearly done; 

1570 Yet once more let ns look upon the sea; 
The midland ocean breaks on him and me^ 
And from the Alban J\Ionnt we now behold 
Onr friend of youth, that ocean, which when we 
Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold 

1575 Those waves, we followed on till the dark Euxine rolFd 

CLXXVI. 

Upon the blue Sjmiplegades. Long 3^ears — 
Long, though not very many — since have done 
Their work on both; some suffering and some tears 
Have left us nearly where we had begun: 
1580 Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run; 
AYe have had our reward, and it is here, — 
That we can yet feel gladdened by the sun, 
And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear 
As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. 

CLXXVII. 

1585 Oh that the Desert were my dwelling-place, 
With one fair Spirit for my minister, 



CRILDE HAEOLD 175 

That I might all forget the luiman race. 
And;, hating no one^ love but only her ! 
Ye Elements, in whose ennobling stir 
1590 I feel myself exalted, can ye not 

Accord me snch a being? Do I err 
In deeming such inhabit many a spot, 
Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot ? 

CLXXVIII. 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
1595 There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society where none intrudes. 
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : 
I love not Man the less, but Xature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
1600 From all I may be or have been before. 
To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal. 

CLXXIX. 

Eoll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 

1605 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

1610 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 

CLXXX. 

His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields 
Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise 



176 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields 
1615 For earth^s destruction thou dost all despise^ 
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies^ 
And send'st him^ shivering in thy playful spray 
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies 
His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
1620 And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. 

CLXXXI. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals. 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
1625 Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee and arbiter of war, — 
These are thy toj^s, and, as the snowy flake. 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada^s pride or spoils of Trafalgar. 

CLXXXII. 

1630 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — ■ 
Assyria, Greece, Eome, Carthage, what are they? 
Thy waters waslrd them power while they were free. 
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 

1635 Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou. 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves^ play; 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow; 
Such as creation^s dawn beheld, thou roUest now. 

CLXXXIII. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
1640 Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, 



CHILDE HAEOLD 177 

Calm or convulsed — in breeze^ or gale^ or storm^ 
Icing the pole^ or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving ; — boundless^ endless^ and sublime — 
The image of Eternity — the throne 
1645 Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime 

The monsters of the deep are made : ^ach zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest f orth^ dread, fathomless^ alone. 

CLXXXIV. 

And I have loved thee^ Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 

1650 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward. From a boy 
I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me 
AVere a delight; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — ^t was a pleasing fear, 
For I was as it were a child of thee, 

1655 And trusted to thy billows far and near. 

And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 

CLXXXV. 

My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme 

Has died into an echo; it is fit 

The spell should break of this protracted dream. 

1660 The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit 

My midnight lamp — and what is writ, is writ, — 
Would it were worthier ! but I am not now 
That which I have been — and my visions flit 
Less palpably before me — and the glow 

1665 Which in my spirit dvrelt is fluttering, faint, and low. 

CLXXXVI. 

Farewell ! a word that must be, and hath been — 
A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell ! 



178 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Ye^ who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene 
"Which is his last, if in 5^0"ar memories dwell 
1670 A thought which once was his, if on je swell 
A single recollection, not in vain 
He wore his sandal-shoon and scallop-shell; 
Farewell ! with him alone may rest the pain, 
If such there were - — with you, the moral of his strain ! 

THE PEISONEE OF CHILLON. 

NOTES. 

The Castle of Chillon completes the picturesque beauty of the 
crescent-shaped Lake of Geneva. The bright blue waters of the 
lake are surrounded by steep mountains, the lower slopes of which 
are vine-covered, while the summits cut the air in fantastic forms. 
At the end of the lake, the valley of the Rhone opens toward 
higher peaks, dimly seen and flashing with snow. The serrated 
Dent du Midi, however, closes the view from most points. The 
white castle, satisfying all ideals of a castle aroused by fairy-tale 
and romance, stands on a little island so close to the shore that 
it appears to project into the lake. People were apparently im- 
prisoned here as early as the ninth century. Frangois Bonivard, 
whose name Byron erroneously spelled Bonnivard, lived in the six- 
teenth century. Byron did not know" much about him when he 
wrote the poem. He said later : "When this poem was composed, 
I was not sufficiently aware of the history of Bonnivard, or I 
should have endeavored to dignify the subject by an attempt to 
celebrate his courage and his virtues." 

The real Bonivard began life as a Roman Catholic and inher- 
ited from an uncle a rich priory near the city of Geneva, that 
carried with it the title of prior. He became, however, a reformer 
and an ardent republican. "As soon as I began to read the history 
of nations," he wrote, "I felt drawn by a strong preference for 
republics, the interests of which I always espoused." The Duke 
of Savoy opposed the liberties of Geneva, and Bonivard, especially 
in 1519, helped to defend the city from his attacks. In 1530 he fell 
for the second time into the power of the Duke, who imprisoned 
him in Chillon for six ye?a's. During the first two years he had 
fairly comfortable quarters ; then "the Duke visited Chillon, and 
. . . . the Captain thrust me into a cell lower than the lake, 
where I lived four years. I had so little space for walking that 
I wore in the rock which was the pavement a little path or track 



THE PEISOXEE OF CHILLON: NOTES 179 

as if it had been made v\'ith a hammer." After Bonivard's release 
he lived many years as an honored and respected citizen of Geneva- 
It Is said that in private life he was far fro'm being an admirable 
man ; but he was certainly a person of patriotic zeal and intel- 
lectual power. In the bitter religious strife that prevailed, during 
those Reformation days, he seems to have striven to reconcile par- 
ties. He writes in one excellent passage : "Both factions boast 
of preaching Christ Crucified : and we tell the truth : for we leave 
Him crucified and naked upon the Tree of the Cross, and we play 
at dice at the foot of that Cross to know who will have His 
vestments." 

See an article entitled "The True Story of the Prisoner of Chil- 
lon" in The Nineteenth Century , May, 1900. 

Byron's name is carved on the southern side of the third column 
in the dungeon, but it is not certain that he carved it himself. 
The fifth column is that to which Bonivard is said to have been 
chained. 

Line 3. In a single night: "Ludovico Sforza and others. The 
same is asserted of Marie Antoinette's, the wife of Louis Sixteenth, 
though not in quite so short a period. Grief is said to have the 
same effect. To such, and not to fear, this change in hers was to- 
be attributed." Byron. 

11. My father's -faith: The whole tenor of this passage suggests 
that Bonivard was a victim of religious persecution. But the real 
Bonivard was imprisoned for political reasons. 

17. We were seven, etc. Note the increase in solemnity due to 
the change from the iambic to the trochaic movement. 

27. There are seven pillars, etc.: There are electric lights in 
the dungeon now I What sort of mould is a "Gothic mould"' ? 

31. A sunteani: Of the effect of this sunlight Mr. Neaf in his 
Guide to the Castle of Chilian writes : "This is really so : Bonivard, 
from the spot where he was chained, could, perhaps, never get an 
idea of the loveliness and variety of radiating light which the 
sunbeams shed at different hours of the day. In the morning this 
light is of luminous and transparent shining, which the curves of 
the vaults send back all along the hall. During the afternoon the 
hall assumes a much deeper and warmer coloring, and the blue 
transparency of the morning disappears ; but at eventide, after 
the sun has set behind the Jura, th% scene changes to the deep 
glow of fire." 

73. The youngest: This picture suggests in one or two points 
Shelley's portrait of Lionel, in his poem, Rosalind and Helen. 

82. A polar day: Analyze the pathos and beauty of this figure. 

103. A hunter of the hills: The description of the elder brother 
reminds us that we are in Switzerland. 

107. Lake Leman: Another name for the Lake of Geneva. 

109. Its massy icaters meet and floic: Ruskin applauds the 
perfect truth of each word in this line. The water is really about 



180 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

€ight hundred feet deep beside the castle walls. See Modern 
Painters, Part IV, ch. 1, sec. 9. 

160. Earth: Parse the word. 

185. Unmixed ivith such: With such horrors. Study in the fol- 
lowing passage the effect of restrained pathos, culminating in the 
agony which gives the prisoner strength to burst his chains and 
rush to the side of his dead brother. 

227. / Tcnoio not ivhy: Can you explain the reason for the 
break in the metre? 

231. It is interesting to compare the description of prison life in 
Silvio Pellico's Jilij Prisons, in the story of Dr. Manette as told in 
Dickens's Tale of Two Cities, and the pictures of imprisonment in 
Eussia given in the Memoirs of Prince Kropotkin, the Russian Rev- 
olutionist. 

238. Shruhless crags within the mist: What does "shrubless" 
add to this figure? What "within the mist"/ 

247. A stirless hreath: This section presents the heart of the 
prisoner's agony. Why Is it so brief? 

284. A visitant from Paradise: "The souls of the Blessed are 
supposed by some to animate green birds in the fields of Paradise." 

294. A solitary cloud: Is this gentle simile appropriate here? 
W^hy did not Byron add another simile of horror like the preceding? 

331. The quiet of a loving eye: "Compare Wordsworth, in A 
Poet's Epitaph: 'The harvest of a quiet eye.' Byron had satirized 
Wordsworth severely in his English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. 
He later regretted his stricture and by such lines as these 
acknowledged a poetic debt." Thomas. The poetry which Byron 
wrote during 1816, the year of this poem, reflects the joint influ- 
ence of Wordsworth and Shelley. 

332. Remember the gloom to which his eyes have so long been 
accustomed. Note what arrests his eye. First the snow-mountains, 
then the lake, then the little town, then the island, on which his 
thought rests lovingly, and then the happy free creatures in wave 
and air. 

341. A little isle: "Between the entrance of the Rhone and 
Tilleneuve, not far from Chillon, is a very small island ; the only 
one I could perceive in my voyage round and over the lake, within 
Its circumference. It contains a few trees (I think not over three), 
and from its singleness and diminutive size has a peculiar effect 
upon the view." — E. H. Coleridge. 

378. A hermitage: Cf. Lovelace's To Althea in Prison: — 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for a hermitage. 



CHILDE HAEOLD: XOTES 181 

381. WWi sinders: Byron's prisoner is not the only one wha 
has found this possible. See Silvio Pellico. 

CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO III. 
NOTES. 

Stanza XVII. After an interval of some years, Byron has re- 
sumed his wanderings. The first part of the canto has been filled 
with meditations on his personal sorrows, either in his own persoa 
or in that of his hero. Now, he begins comment on his travels, 
and first commemorates the field of Waterloo. Here, hardly a 
year before, the Duke of Wellington and the Powers allied witk 
England had finally defeated Napoleon and so put an end to the 
ten years' despotism which had changed the map of Europe. There 
was as yet no monument to mark the site of the battle ; a mound 
surmounted by the Belgian Lion was erected by William I of Hol- 
land in 182.3. 

Stanza XVIII. ^'Pricle of place is a term of falconry, meaning 
the highest pitch of flight. See Macheth: 

An eagle towering in her pride of place 
Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and killed." 

— Byron. 

For the correct form of the quotation, see jiac'betli, Act 11^ 
scene IV, line 12. 

Byron copied these first two stanzas in a lady's album in Brus- 
sels. The central lines of the second then ran : 

Here his last flight the haughty eagle flew. 
Then tore with bloody beak the fatal plain. 

The poet was impelled to alter the lines by seeing an illustra- 
tion of them drawn by a Mr. Reinagle, representing "a spirited 
chained eagle grasping the earth with his talons." Byron wrote : 
"Reinagle is a better poet and a better ornithologist than I am. 
Eagles and all birds of prey attack with their talons and not with 
their beaks." The eagle is of course the imperial eagle of Napo- 
leon. 

Stanza XIX. See the Introduction for an explanation of the tone 
of this passage- Compare Shelley's Sonnet, Feelings of a Repiid- 
lican on the Fall of Bonaijarte: 

T know 
Too late, since thou and France are in the dust, 
That Virtue owns a more eternal foe 
Than Force or Fraud : old Custom, legal Crime, 
And bloody Faith, the foulest birth of Time. 



182 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Stanza XX. Last line : Hippias and Hipparchus, the sons of 
Peisistratiis, were the tyrants of Athens in B. C. 514. Two 
friends, Harmodius and Aristogiton, assassinated them at the Fes- 
tival of Athena, having concealed their daggers in festive boughs of 
myrtle. The old Greek poem on the exploit ran : 

I'll w^reathe my sword in myrtle-bough, 
The sword that laid the tyrant low, 
When patriots burning to be free 
To Athens gave equality. 

See for a description of an imaginary relief referring to the 
event. Browning's Pippa Passes, Act II. 

Stanza XXI. This famous Ball was given by the Duchess of 
Hichmond at Brussels, on the fifteenth of June, the eve of the 
hattle. Thackeray has made effective use of it in Vanity Fair. 

Stanza XXIII. Frederick William, Duke of Brunswick, died in 
the front of the line almost in the beginning of the battle. His 
father had been killed in the battle of Jena in 1806. 

Stanza XXYI. The Scotch troops fought valiantly at Waterloo. 
"Sir Evan Campbell fought on the Royalist side against Cromwell 
In the seventeenth century. His grandson, Lochiei, also an adherent 
of the ill-fated Stuarts, v/as wounded at CuUoden in 1746. A 
great-great-grandson in command of the Highlanders was killed 
at Waterloo. 

Stanza XXVII. Byron was mistaken in thinking that the wood 
of Soignies, on the site of the battle, was the traditional Forest 
of Arden. 

Stanzas LXXVI-LXXXIV. These stanzas contain Byron's char- 
acter-study of Jean Jacques Rousseau, the famous Sv/iss writer of 
the eighteenth century. Rousseau's writings aroused enthusiasm 
for a return to more natural modes of thought and feeling. His 
theories of social equality played an important part in creating 
the Republics of the United States and of France. See Rousseau, 
by John Morley. The scene of Rousseau's novel. La Nouvelle 
Heloise, is the shores of the Lake of Geneva. Byron and Shelley 
read the book and visited the sites it mentions, together. 

Byron was evidently chiefly impressed by the element of passion 
in the writings of Rousseau. In the eighty-first and eighty-second 
stanzas, however, he does justice to the power of Rousseau's intel- 
lectual conceptions. 

Stanza LXXXII. A concise statement of Byron's estimate of 
the French Revolution. Compare that of Shelley, as given in the 
preface to The Revolt of Islam. 

Stanzas LXXXIII-LXXXIV. Byron wrote in 1822 : ''The king- 
times are finishing. There will be blood shed like water and tears 
like mist : but the Peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not 
live to see it, but I foresee it." 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 183 

Stanzas LXXXVII-XCVI. This passage is one of the most 
famous of Bj^ron's descriptions of Nature. Stanzas LXXXYIII- 
XCII are intended to be full of solemn calm, and are dramatically 
contrasted with the following stanzas, which seek to render the 
sublimity of the storm. Byron wrote this passage among glorious 
scenery. He was also at this time strongly under the influence 
of Wordsworth and Shelley, and had moreover been re-reading 
with enthusiasm the work of Rousseau, who had helped to create 
in Europe a new sympathy with Nature. 

Stanza LXXXIX. The sentiment of the latter part of this 
stanza is tinged with the pantheism common to the nature-poetry 
of this period. 

Stanza XC. Cytlierea's zone was the magic girdle of Venus, 
which endowed any one who wore it with irresistible charm. 

Stanza XCI. "It is to be recollected that the most beautiful 
and impressive doctrines of the Divine Founder of Christianity 
were delivered not in the TEMPLE but on the MOUNT. . . . 
It is one thing to read the Iliad at Sigaeum and on the tumuli, 
or by the springs with ISIount Ida above, and the plain and rivers 
and Archipelago around you, and quite another to trim your taper 
over it in a snug library — this I KNOW. Were the early and 
rapid progress of w^hat is called Methodism to be attributed to any 
cause beyond the enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and 
doctrines, I should venture to ascribe it to the practice of preach- 
ing in the fields." — Byron. 

Stanza XCII. "The thunder storm to which these lines refer 
occurred on the thirteenth of June, 1816, at midnight. I have 
seen among the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari several more 
terrible but none more beautiful." — Byron. 

Stanza XCI II. Note the strong sense of revelling in the tumult 
of Nature. Such enthusiasm was as natural to Byron as a quiet 
joy in Nature's calmer aspects was to Wordsworth. 

Stanza XCIV. The critics agree that Byron borrowed this fine 
metaphor from the second part of Coleridge's Christahel, where 
Coleridge describes the alienation of two friends : 

But never either found another 
To free the hollow heart from paining — 
They stood aloof, the scars remaining 
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ; 

A dreary sea now flows between, 
But neither heat nor frost nor thunder 
Shall wholly do away, I ween, 
The marks of that which once hath been. 

Stanzas CY-CVII. In these stanzas, Byron gives a character 
sketch of two famous men of the preceding age : Voltaire, the 



184 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

French critic and skeptic, who lived for many years at Ferney, 
near Geneva ; and Gibbon, the English historian, who in 1788 fin- 
ished his Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire at Lausanne on 
the site of the hotel now called by his name. 

CHILDE HAEOLD: CANTO lY. 
NOTES. 

Byron wrote one hundred and thirty stanzas of this canto at 
vrhite heat in thircy-three days after his return to Venice from a 
six-weeks' trip to Ferrara, Florence, and Rome, in the spring of 
1817. 

If the reader would share the emotion of the opening stanza he 
should know something of the history and art of Venice. Good 
books to consult are Horatio Brown's Venice: an Historical Sketch, 
and T. Okey's The Story of Venice. Ruskin's great book, The 
Stones of Venice, though not to be trusted as formal history, is 
full of splendid passages. Merely to turn its pages is to realize 
how slightly Byron touched on the treasures of the city. 

Venice was founded by country-folk who fied from the invasion 
of the Huns under Attila in the fifth century, taking refuge on the 
little islands in the lagoon. Her power rose to its height in the 
fifteenth century, when she was the mistress of wide possessions 
to the east of her, in Dalmatia, the Grecian isles, and the Levant. 
Her magnificent art coincided with the height of her power and 
with the early stages of her decline. She remained a free Repub- 
lic till 1797, when Napoleon put an end to her liberties and 
abolished the ofllce of Doge. From that date to 1805 she was 
under the power of Austria. From 1805 till 1814 she belonged 
to Napoleon's Kingdom of Italy. She then passed again under 
Austrian dominion, and was, when Byron wrote, still subjected to 
this unendurable ignominy, which continued until the union and 
independence of Italy were consummated in 1866. These brief state- 
ments will explain many allusions in the text. 

Line 1. The Bridge of Sighs spans with a single covered arch 
the narrow canal between the Palace of the Doges, well described 
by Ruskin, and the old city dungeon. 

8. The icinged Lion's marhle piles: St. Mark's Lion, the emblem 
of Venice, still looks proudly out from a column in the Piazza in 
front of St. Mark's Church, vrith St. Theodore and his crocodile as 
a pendant. 

10. A sea Cyhele: Byron borrowed this figure from Sabellicus, 
an Italian writer of the Renaissance. Cybele, the mother of the 
gods, was represented as crowned with towers. Her name is 
usually accented on the first syllable, but there is some authority 
for Byron's use, which he probably caught from the Italian pro- 
nunciation, which accents the penult. 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 185 

19. Tasso's echoes: "The well-known song of the Gondoliers, 
of alternate stanzas from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the 
independence of Venice." So Byron's fellow-traveler, Hobhouse, 
annotates this Jine. 

21. Crumhling to the shore: One of these palaces has now 
been carried away piecemeal from the Grand Canal, and forms 
part of Mrs. Jack Gardner's Museum at Fenway Court, Boston. 
See also note on line 114. 

27. The masque of Italy: Masque here means carnival, fes- 
tivity. 

.33, 34. The Rialto, etc.: The Rialto is the famous bridge across 
the Grand Canal. Shylock and the Moor need no explanation. 
But alas for Byron's proud faith in literary immortality ! How 
many people can identify Pierre without a note? He is a charac- 
ter in Otway's Yenice Prese?^ved. That Byron makes his name a 
monosyllable is an evidence of the provincialism of educated Eng- 
lishmen in his day. 

48. This icorn feeling: The phrase is loosely used. The 
antecedent is that sentiment which is the theme of the last stanza. 

51. The fairy-land of the imagination is contrasted, first, with 
historic memories, then with personal experience. 

57. Are now hut so: Parse **but so," if possible. 

71. The inviolate island of the sage and free: Byron's hurt 
resentment against England breathes through these stanzas ; yet 
his unwilling tribute to her in this line ranks with the best expres- 
sions of patriotism in her literature. 

74. In a soil tvhich is not mine: The poet's tempestuous spirit 
knew many moods. On another occasion he wrote to a friend : 
**I am sure my bones would not rest in an English grave, or my 
clay mix with the earth of that country. I believe the thought 
would drive me mad on my death-bed — I would not even feed your 
worms if I could help it." 

82, 83. The temple where the dead are honoured: Not "dull 
oblivion" but the protest of the authorities debarred Byron from 
burial in Westminster Abbey. 

85. The Spartan's epitaph: The answer made by the mother of 
Brasidas, the Spartan general, to those who praised her son. This 
stanza has the manly ring which atones for much of Byron's 
egotism and lack of self-discipline. 

91. The spouseless Adriatic: Stanzas V to IX have formed an 
interlude. The poet now returns to Yenice. This stanza is full 
of allusions. The Bucentaur was the barge in which the Doge 
annually sailed out into the Lagoon, that he might throw a ring 
into the sea in token of Venice's supremacy over the waters. St. 
Mark's Lion, like many other tr^asuTes, was carried to Paris by 
Napoleon, but was afterwards restored. The Piazza where it 
stands was the scene of the submission, of the Emperor Frederick 
Barbarossa to Pope Alexander III in 1177, a central episode in 



186 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

the long mediaeval struggle between the Papacy and the Empire. 
Frederick was of the House of Suabia. 

Wordsworth's Sonnet On the ExUnction of the Venetian Reput- 
lie is an admirable companion to these stanzas : 

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee ; 

And was the safeguard of the west : the worth 

Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. 

She was a maiden City, bright and free ; 

No guile seduced, no force could violate ; 

And, when she took unto herself a Mate, 
She must espouse the everlasting Sea. 

And what if she had seen those glories fade, 
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay ; 

Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 
When her long life hath reached its final day : 

Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade 
Of that which once was great, is passed away. 

100, etc. These stanzas give an indignant and accurate picture 
of the situation of Italy. That which Wordsworth contemplates 
with philosophic sorrow, as a finality, stirs Byron to a wrath 
charged with rebellion. 

106. Lauwine: A German word for avalanche. The word 
'^avalanche*' was not yet acclimated in English when Byron wrote. 

107. Blind old Dandolo: Commander-in-chief of the Venetians 
at the taking of Constantinople in the last decade of the twelfth 
century. He was eighty-five years old at the time. 

109. His steeds of hrass still ramp proudly above the portal of 
the Church of St. Mark. They were brought from Constantinople 
by Dandolo. 

112. Are they not hridled: The allusion is to legendary his- 
tory, which tells that when the Venetians in 1379 were overcome 
by the armies of Genoa and Padua, they sent an embassy entreat- 
ing that their city be allowed to retain her independence. The 
Genoese sent back answer through their general, Pietro Doria : 
*'0n God's faith, gentlemen of Venice, ye shall have no peace .... 
until we have first put a rein upon those unbridled horses of yours, 
that are upon the porch of your evangelist, St. Mark." Modern 
research does not support the authenticity of the story. 

114. Sinks, like a sea-iceed: Critics discuss whether Byron be 
thinking of the encroachments of the literal sea or of the moral 
decline of the city. Why not of the second under figure of the 
first? The passage in its literal meaning received a striking illus- 
tration when the Campanile, one of the oldest buildings in the city, 
fell into ruins in 1902. See a beautiful passage parallel to this 
In Shelley's Lines Written Among the Eupancan Hills: 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 187 

Sun-girt city, thou bast been 
Ocean's cbild, and tben bis queen : 
Now has come a darker day, 
And tbou soon must be bis prey. 

Read also the splendid tribute to Byron a little later in the same 
poem. 

118. A new Tyre: Consult tbe description of tbis great com- 
mercial city of tbe ancient world, in Ezekiel, XXVI-XXYIII. 

120. The ^Planter of the Lion': Byron bere relies on a probably 
false etymology. Tbe Venetians were nick-named Pantaloni ; but 
the real origin of tbe term, which is tbe source of our "pantaloon" 
and of tbe Italian name for a clov\'n, is now thought to have been 
tbe baptismal name ''Pantaleone," frequently given to Venetian 
children in honor of St. Pantaleone, whose cult was common in 
Northern Italy. 

123. TJie Ottomite: The Turk. 

124. Troy's rival, Candia: In 1669, Candia, an island on the 
coast of Crete, was lost to Venice after a defense which bad lasted 
twenty-five years. 

125. Lepanto's fight: This naval battle against tbe Turks was 
won by the Venetians and their allies in 1570. 

136. ^Yhen. Athens^ armies, etc.: See Plutarch's Life of Xicias 
and Browning's BaJaustion's Adventure. In the fifth century B. C. 
the dramas of Euripides were so popular throughout Sicily that 
Athenian prisoners who could recite them were especially favored 
by their masters. 

151. The Ocean queen, etc.: Would tbis argument appeal to 
the practical statesman? On tbe other hand, is tbe appeal of 
Byron in the last stanza based on tbe highest ground? 

154. / loved her from my boyhood: Byron wrote to John Mur- 
ray : "Venice pleases me as much as I expected, and I expected 
much. It is one of those places which I know before I see them, 
and has always haunted me the most after the East." 

158. It is amusing today to find tbe crudely romantic story 
Mrs. RadclifPe's Mysteries of Udoipho, ranked by Byron with the 
fine though now neglected drama, Otway's Venice Preserved, with 
Schiller's Geister-Seer, and with Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. 

160. Interpret thus. 

172. What is the force of But? Tannen is tbe plural of Tanne, 
a fir tree. Tbe Alpine fir, Byron says, "only thrived in very rocky 
parts, where scarcely soil sufficient for its nourishment can be 
found. On these spots it grows to a greater height than any other 
tree." The propriety of introducing foreign words with no quota- 
tion marks into tbe text, as Byron has done here and in tbe case of 
**lauwine," is questionable. 

Stanzas XX-XXV. Passages like these were in Matthew 
Arnold's mind when he described Byron as parading over Europe 



188 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

"The pageant of bis bleeding beart," and in Carlyle's mind, when 
in Sartor Resartus be sneered at tbe practice of crying aloud wben 
one is burt and represented bis own suffering bero as "mute, silent, 
or speaking only of tbe Weatber or tbe Journals." 

197. Devotion, toil, war, good, or crime: Wbicb among tbese 
resources sbould you say were sougbt by Byron? 

204. Tbe power of association is exquisitely suggested in tbe 
following lines. E. H. Coleridge calls attention bere to Brown- 
ing's Bishop Blougram's Apology: 

Just wben we are safest, tb'ere's a sunset-toucb, 

A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's deatb, 

A chorus-ending from Euripides — 

And that's enough for flfty hopes and fears 

As old and new at once as nature's self 

To rap and knock and enter in our soul. 

216. Note the condensation of thought possible to poetic expres- 
sion : Too many, since we lose and mourn ; liow few since life at 
best is very lonely. 

217. Byron now turns from Venice and from the personal inter- 
lude, to wanderings farther afield. The relation of the personal 
parts of the poem to tbe impersonal description is indicated in tbe 
opening lines of this stanza, where Byron says that be stands "A 
ruin among ruins." Despite bis poetic melancholy, we know that 
be was fairly happy in Italy : and be was still a young man in 
tbe prime of vigor. 

226. The commonwealth of kings: One of the best things in 
the poem is Byron's honest enthusiasm for Italy. He forgets, when • 
be praises her, bis cynicism and bis assumed despair : he forgets 
himself. Compare Shelley's feelings for Italy, as shown in his 
Letters, bis Lines Among the Eiiganean Hills, and elsewhere. 
And compare tbe feeling of Browning, and of Mrs. Browning. 

235. This sunset was seen by Byron as be rode one evening on 
the mainland opposite Venice, along the banks of tbe little river 
Brenta. He says that be saw many another equally beautiful, and 
one who knows Italy can well believe him. Englishmen are less 
accustomed than Americans to brilliant sunsets. 

238. Blue FriulVs mountains: The mountains meant are "tbe 
Julian Alps, which form an arc from behind Trieste to the neigh- 
borhood of Verona." Tbe same chain, or higher summits beyond, 
are called below "the far Rbsetian bill," that is, the Tyrolese 
heights. 

£44. A single star is at her side: Cf. Shelley, who describes a 
similar sunset seen from tbe Euganean Hills, looking down on the 
city : 

(Autumn's evening moots me soon, 
Leading tbe infantine moon 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 189 

And that one star, which to her 
Almost seems to minister 
Half the crimson light she brings 
^ From the sunset's radiant springs. 

Compare also Coleridge's : 

Horned moon, with one bright star 
Within the nether tip. 

259. Ruskin objects to the figure of the hues on the dying 
dolphin. He says that only an insensitive nature could have used 
it. Do you agree? Does the dolphin really change hues when 
dying? 

262. We now start with Byron on our travels. First we visit 
Arqua, a hill-village on the southeast slope of Shelley's Euganean 
Hills, between Padua and Ferrara. Here Petrarch spent the later 
years of his life, here he died. His house is adorned with charm- 
ing old frescoes depicting scenes from his poems. It is at the 
top of the town in a fine situation. Petrarch was one of the first 
people in the post-Roman world to prefer country to city living. 

267. To raise a language, etc.: Petrarch, the herald of the 
renaissance in Italy, was as strong a patriot as the Italians with 
whom Byron was conspiring for the overthrow of the Austrian. 
His sonnets in the vernacular completed the work begun by Dante's 
Divine Comedy, of establishing Italian among the great languages 
of literature. 

269. The tree ichicJi hears his lady's name is of course the laurel. 

293. Idlesse: An old word, taken from Spenser, to whom 
Byron owes the stanzaic form of the poem. 

295. Byron did not really love solitude, as Wordsworth did. 
But he could sentimentalize over it. 

303. Predestined to a. doom: This gruesome stanza suggests an 
Intermittent terror of Byron's that he was himself destined to 
eternal loss. Although often defiant in religious attitude, he never 
quite shook himself free from the older orthodoxy. It is note- 
worthy that solitude suggests to him gloom rather than rest and 
joy. He says : "The struggle is quite as likely to be with demons 
as with our better thoughts. Satan chose the wilderness for the 
temptation of Our Saviour. And our unsullied John Locke pre- 
ferred the presence of a child to complete solitude." 

307. Now we come to Ferrara, a famous centre of art and 
letters during the Italian renaissance. See Browning's My Last 
Duchess. The House of Este, patrons of Tasso, who honored them 
in his poetry, long held rule here. 

319. It is popularly believed that the Duke Alfonso II "because 
of Tasso's political intrigues and because of his daring to love the 
Duke's sister" Leonora "had the poet confined as a lunatic in a 
nai-row cell. (Cf. Byron's Lament of Tasso, and Goethe's Torquato 
Ta-'!So.) But later authorities assort that this confinement was 



190 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

due to the genuine insanity of the poet, and Byron's attack here 
may not be justifiable." — Thomas. 

339. The Cruscan quire: "The Accademia della Crusca, estab- 
lished at Florence in 15S2, with the object of purifying the 
national language. It censured Tasso's Jerusalem. Quire is now 
commonly spelled choir." — Rolfe. 

340. BoiJeau: "The celebrated French critic, who complained 
that the taste of his time preferred the tinsel of Tasso to the gold 
of Virgil." — Rolfe. 

342. That ichetstone of the teeth: It is all very well for Byron 
to sneer cleverly at the heroic couplet endorsed by Boileau. But 
then how explain his avowed preference for the school of Pope? 
He Vv^rote to Gifford that he and a,ll his important contemporaries 
were on the wrong tack and Pope on the right one. 

354. The Bards of Hell and Chivalry: Dante and Ariosto. We 
now think Dante to be the Bard of Paradise quite as truly as the 
Bard of Hell. But Byron really did not know much about Dante. 
His comparison of Ariosto to Scott, however, is felicitous and just : 
the first bit of discriminating criticism he has given us in his 
torrent of praise. 

359. The Ariosto of the 'North: Byron and Scott admired each 
other. See a generous letter from Byron to the elder poet, written 
after an interview with the Prince Regent in which the Prince had 
warmly praised Scott's poetry to the rising poet who was largely to 
supersede the elder in popularity. 

361. The lightning, etc.: "Before the remains of Tasso were 
removed from the Benedictine church to the library of Ferrara, 
his bust, which surmounted the tomb, was struck by lightning, 
and a crown of laurels melted away." — Hohhouse. 

368. "Among the Romans it was a superstition that the light- 
ning sanctified the objects it struck. Because of this belief the 
Curtian lake and the Ruminal fig-tree in the Forum were held 
sacred."— ^TTiomas. 

370, etc.: This noble stanza and the next are, Byron tells us, 
a free translation of a sonnet by Filicaja, an Italian poet. 

385. The stranger's sioord: Compare for the sentiment in this 
whole passage. Browning's Italian in England^, and Meredith's 
novels, Sandro Belloni and Emilia in England. Byron is only one 
of many Englishmen whose indignant sympathy for Italy has been 
expressed in letters and in deeds. 

388-395. In a celebrated letter to Cicero, Servius Sulpicius 
tries to console the great orator for the death of his daughter 
Tullia. Parts of the letter describe a route by sea and land which 
Byron often traced. *'Ob. my return from Asia," writes Sulpicius, 
*'as I was sailing from ^gina towards Megara, I began to con- 
template the prospects of the countries around me : JEgina was 
behind, Megara before me ; Piraeus on the right, Corinth on the 
left ; all which towns once famous and flourishing, now lie over- 



CHILDE HASOLD: NOTES 191 

turned and buried in their ruins. Upon this sight, I coulJ not 
but think presently vrithin myself : Alas I how do we poor mortals 
fret and vex ourselves if any of our friends happen to die or be 
killed, whose life is jet so short, when the carcasses of so many 
noble cities lie here exposed before me in one view." 

421. How and when was this prophecy fulfilled? 

425. The Etrurian Athens is Florence, situated on the river 
Arno. Byron did not appreciate this city, which today is deemed 
as interesting as Venice or Rome. He stopped there one day only, 
and wrote before he went : "I have not the least curiosity about 
Florence, though I must see it for the sake of the Venus." One 
of the reasons for his attitude was his indifference to painting, 
which is a chief glory of the city of Botticelli and Fra Angelico. 
He wrote : "I know nothing of painting ; and I detest it unless it 
reminds me of something I have seen or think it possible to see, 
for which reason I spit upon and abhor all the saints and sub- 
jects of half the impostures I see in the churches and palaces." 
Ruskin was to rouse Englishmen to a different frame of mind. 
But Byron did feel impressed in the great Florentine galleries, and 
half recanted his heresy. 

431. Modern Luxury: Byron speaks truly here : Florence owed 
her pre-eminence in arts and letters during the Renaissance to the 
advance in civilization rendered possible by her commercial su- 
premacy. 

433. The Goddess loves in stone: The Venus de Medici, long 
the central ornament of the Tribune, or central hall, in the Uffizi, 
the chief art gallery of Florence. Byron went to Florence on pur- 
pose to rhapsodize over this famous statue, and he does so elo- 
quently. One feels a little suspicion, however, that his raptures 
were partly made to order. He was really more sensitive to his- 
toric memories than to art. Shelley also, fainted with ecstasy 
before the remains of ancient sculpture, while he hardly noted the 
great religious art of the painters before Raphael. 

445. Chained to the chariot: Explain the allusion. 

450. The Dardan Shepherd's prize: See classical dictionary. 

478. In Santa Croc&s holy precincts: Byron does not really 
care anything about Santa Croce. All he had to say about it 
in prose was that it contains "much illustrious nothing." To the 
modern traveler, the precincts are indeed "holy," not on account 
of the famous people buried in the church, which is a kind of 
Italian Westminster Abbey, but on account of its association with 
the sweetest of mediaeval saints, Francis of Assisi. The church con- 
tains remarkable frescoes of the early schools, some of which cele- 
brate the life and death of St. Francis. It was built by his follow- 
ers. See Ruskin's Mornings in Florence. 

484. For what was each of these men famous? 

487. The elements: Water, air, earth, fire. 



192 SHOKTEE EXGLISH POEMS 

495. Canova: An Italian sculptor, more highly esteemed in 
Byron's day than in our own. He died in 1822. 

498. Bard of Prose: Boccaccio, author of the Decamerone. 

505-506. Dante is buried in Ravenna. Scipio Africanus the 
Elder gave orders that he [Scipio] was not to be buried in Rome, 
but in the home of his voluntary exile, Liturnum. The inscription on 
his tomb, according to some historians, was : "Ungrateful coun- 
try, you shall not have my ashes." 

507. Owing to the factions between the Ghibellines and the 
Guelfs, the parties of the Emperor and the Pope, Dante, to the 
everlasting shame of Florence, was exiled from the city. Compare 
Rossetti's beautiful poem, Dante at Verona. 

514. Boccaccio was buried at his birthplace, Certaldo. Later, 
the religious authorities whom Byron calls "hyaena bigots" caused 
his body to be removed. 

517. Tuscan's siren tongue: Byron is said to have spoken 
Italian like a native. This is just praise of the language. 

525. Ccesar's pageant: Byron means a pageant decreed by 
Tiberius. At the public funeral of the sister of Brutus and wife 
of Cassius, the busts of her husband and brother were not allowed 
to be carried in the procession because they had conspired against 
Caesar. Yet, says Tacitus, their glory was the more conspicuous in 
men's minds because their images were withheld. 

528. Fortress of falling empire: During the barbarian in- 
vasions Ravenna was a stronghold of the Empire. 

532. Byron in this stanza alludes to the tombs of the Medici in 
Ihe Chapel of San Lorenzo at Florence. He wrote to Murray: "I 
also went to the Medici Chapel — fine frippery in great slabs of 
various expensive stones, to commemorate fifty rotten and for- 
gotten carcasses." 

536. These lines may suggest the graves of Byron's contem- 
poraries, Keats and Shelley, in the seclusion of the English cem- 
etery at Rome. 

543. Wliere Sculpture, etc.: The reference probably is to the 
great picture galleries at Florence. One likes the honesty of the 
last of the stanza. Byron wrote to Murray : "I never yet saw 
the picture or the statue which came a league within my concep- 
tion or expectation ; but I have seen many mountains and seas 
and rivers and views (that) went far beyond it." 

551. Thrasimene's lake: Macaulay more accurately makes only 
three syllables of this name : 

And dark Verbenna from the hold 
By reedy Thrasymene. 

— Horatius, 191. 

The lake is in modern Umbria. It was the scene of a great 
defeat of the Romans at the hands of Hannibal. 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 193 

563. An eartliqual:e, etc.: Livy is the authority for this state- 
ment. 

578. A very excellent description of the lake as the tourist 
today sees it. 

586. But tjiou^ Clitumnus: "Xo book of travels has omitted to 
expatiate on the temple of the Clitumnus, between Foligno and 
Spoleto, and no sight — even in Italy — is more worthy a descrip- 
tion." — Byron. 

590. Milk-ichite steer: The traveler in Umbria and Tuscany is 
still delighted by the beauty of the white oxen and the larger mouse 
colored ones. Cf. Macaulay's Uoratius, 1. 46, 55. For probably the 
first mention, in literature, see Vergil, Georgics, II, 14o 

600. The -ftjiny darter: Do you like this paraphrase for a fish? 

602. Chance: It may chance. 

612. Note the etymological sense of disgust, which is taste- 
lessness. 

614. YeJino cleaves: One object of Byron's journey was to see 
this famous waterfall of Terni, formed by the Velino river. He 
wrote that he thought it finer than any cataract in the Alps, and 
he spared no pains in the following stanzas. 

620. Phlegethon: One of the four rivers of Hades. The figure 
is well sustained. Byron had shown in Manfred his power to de- 
scribe the wilder aspects of Nature. 

625. A line more delicate in beauty than is usual with Byron. 

637. Like an eternity: Point out the effect of the similes in 
this stanza. 

639. Cataract and track are a false rhyme. 

640. The similes in this stanza should be studied. 

651. Their mightier parents: Byron had only just published 
his Manfred, which was written partly to express his feelings in 
the presence of Alpine scenery. The snow of the Jungfrau is no 
longer untrodden. 

653. Laiiwine: See note, line 106. The correct plural is 
"Lauwinen." 

657, 658. Chimari is the name of the town near the Acro- 
ceraunian mountains. Acroceraunian means in Greek, peaks struck 
by thunder or lightning. Shelley, too, loved this sonorous name. 
His Arethusa 

arose 
From her couch of snows 
In the Acroceraunian mountains. 

662, 663. With a Trojan's eye must mean, from the plain of 
Troy : for the position of these other mountains, consult a classical 
atlas. 

665. Soracte's height: ''This mountain (now known as San 
Oreste), to the north of Rome, though only 2,260 feet high, is a 



194 SHOETEK EXGLISH P0EM8 

conspicuous object in the view from many points in the city, on 
account of its isolated position. Its broken contour, as it rises 
'from out the plain' (we have in mind particularly the view from 
San Pietro di Montorio — the ancient Janiculum), at once recalls 
the poet's comparison to a breaking wave. Vergil refers to Soracte 
in the ^n. vi. 696 : 'Hi Soractis habent arces ;' and id. xi. 785 ; 
'Summe deum, sancti custos Soractis Apollo ;' and Horace, in Ocl. i. 
9 : 'Tides ut alta stet nive candidum Soracte.' It is this last 
passage that Byron had in mind in saying that the height is 'not 
now in snow.' The temple of Apollo on the summit, to which 
Vergil alludes, is replaced by the modern church of San Silvestro." — 
Bolfc. 

666. Ipric Roman: Horace. See note above. 

685. Then farewell Horace; tchom I hated so: This passage 
has been a comfort to hundreds of people, disgusted with classic 
literature by the monotonous drill of old-fashioned classical train- 
ing. Byron himself writes : 

"I wish to express that we become tired of the task before we 
can comprehend the beauty ; that we learn by rote before we can 
get by heart ; that the freshness is worn away, and the future 
pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic 
anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand 
the power of compositions which it requires an acquaintance with 
life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish or to reason upon, . . . 
In some parts of the Continent young persons are taught from 
more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their 
maturity." 

694. Rome, my country: Byron now reaches the goal of his 
journey. He is more entirely his most interesting self, in the 
stanzas that follow than he has been except in flashes up to this 
time. Can you point out why contact with the "lone mother of 
dead empires" should be peculiarly soothing as well as exalting to a 
man like Byron? 

703. The Nio'be of nations: Consult a classical dictionary. 

707. The Scipios' tomh: Discovered in 1780 and soon rifled. 

715. Up the steep: Tourists may still climb the Capitoline Hill 
and recall old days when the triumphal processions led Rome's 
captives up it, 

722. What grammatical error do you discover in this line? 

730. Alas, the lofty city: Some general knowledge of Roman 
history, at least of the most dramatic moments, is necessary to 
appreciate the stanzas that follow. See the Student's History of 
Rome, by H. G. Liddell (Murray), or any other good Roman history. 

740-746. Sylla, in 87 B. C, set out for a war against Mithridates 
before he had profited by his victory over his enemy, Marius. He 
was appointed Dictator in B. C. 81, but after two years resigned 
the dictatorship and retired into private life. 

758. Cromtcell arbitrarily dissolved the Long Parliament and 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 195 

vras respcns-ble for the execution of Charles I, a deed which Byron 
here seems to regard as a crime. 

763. His fate: "On the third of September, Cromwell gained: 
the victory of Dunbar (1650), a year afterwards he obtained his 
'crowning mercy' of Worcester (1651) ; and a few years after 
(1658), on the same day, which he had ever esteemed the most 
fortunate for him, he died." — Byron. 

775. Dread statue: The statue of Pompey, still to be seen in 
the Spada Palace at Rome, at the base of which, if tradition is 
right, Caesar fell, assassinated by Brutus. . See Shakespeare's Julius 
Cwsar, Act. Ill, Scene II. Compare line 732, yet existent in: 
What offends the ear at this point? It is such lapses in melody, 
such misuse of accent, not infrequent in Byron, that force us tO' 
realize how much weaker the spirit of melody was in him than 
it is in the greatest poets. 

781. Great Nemesis: Explain the force of this phrase. 

784. Thunder-stricken: In the Capitoline museum of Rome 
stands a bronze wolf, a highly archaic work of the fifth century 
B. C. "This is probably the wolf which stood in the Capitoline 
Temple and was injured in B. C. 65 by lightning, of which traces 
are still evident on the hind-legs." Baedeker's Italy. See Cicero, 
third Oration Against Catiline. 

789. Which the great founder sucked: Compare The Prophecy 
of Capys, line 37. But the Nurslings of the Wolf of the Capitol 
were added only in the Renaissance. 

799. Awkward grammar. Parse supremacy. 

803. Bastard Ccesar: Napoleon was, when Byron wrote, an 
exile at St. Helena. In the third Canto of Childe Harold, Byron. 
has a long character-study of him : ^ 

XXXVI. 

There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men, 
Whose spirit, antithetically mixt. 
One moment of the mightiest, and again 
On little objects with like firmness fixed ; 
Extreme in all things ! hadst thou been betwixt 
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been ; 
For daring made thy rise as fall : thou seek'st 
Even now to reassume the imperial mien, 
And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the scene !. 

XXXVII. 

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou ! 
She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name 
Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now 
That thou art nothing, save the jest of fame, 
Who wooed thee once, thy vassal, and became 



196 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert 
A god unto thyself ; nor less the same 
To the astounded kingdoms all inert 
Who deemed thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert. 

XXXYIII. 

O, more or less than man — in high or low, 
Battling with nations, flying from the field ; 
^'ow making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now 
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield ; 
An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild, 
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor. 
However deeply in men's spirits skilled, 
Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war, 
Nor learn that tempted fate v»'ill leave the loftiest star. 

XXXIX. 

Yet well thy soul hath brooked the turning tide 
With that untaught innate philosophy, 
T\Tiich, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride. 
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy. 
When the whole host of hatred stood hard by, 
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled 
With a sedate and all-enduring eye ; — 
When fortune fled her spoiled and favourite child, 
He stood unbowed beneath the ills upon him piled. 

XL. 

Sager than in thy fortunes ; for in them 
Ambition steeled thee on too far to show 
That just habitual scorn, which could contemn 
Men and their thoughts ; 'twas wise to feel, not so 
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow, 
And spurn the instruments thou wert to use 
Till they were turned unto thine overthrow ; 
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose ; 
So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose. 

XLI. 

If, like a tower upon a headlong rock. 
Thou hast been made to stand or fall alone, 
Such scorn of man had helped to brave the shock ; 
But men's thoughts were the steps which paved thy throne, 
Their admiration thy best weapon shone : 
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then — 
'Unless aside thy purple had been thrown — 
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men ; 
For sceptred cynics earth were far too wide a den. 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES . 197 

809. Alcides with the distaff: See classical dictionary. 

811. And came — and saic — and conquered: A translation of 
Caesar's own words, "Veni, vidi, vici." 

812. The eagles are the French troops, trained to "flee" toward 
the enemy, like hawks. 

824, 825. The tears and 'blood of earth: When Byron wrote 
Europe was still convulsed with the near memory of the great 
and bloody Napoleonic v/ars which had followed the outrages of 
the French Revolution, See Introduction and selections from 
Canto III. 

828. Renew thy rain'boic, God! An appeal peculiarly dignified 
and natural under the political circumstances. 

832. Custom's falsest scale: 

Custom lies upon us with a weight 
Heavy as frost and deep almost as life. 
— Wordsworth: Ode on the Intimations of Immortality. 

Stanzas XCIII-XCVIII. It is well to summarize the view of 
human life and contemporary history given in these stanzas. Byron 
had lived through a great historic epoch, the real meaning of 
which w^as in his day hard to discern. The confusion and discour- 
agement expressed in this passage are the natural reaction from 
the excitement, of the Revolutionary hope, seemingly contradicted 
and mocked by the tyranny of Napoleon and all the corruption 
of social life under the Empire. It is natural for a poet, musing 
among the ruins of Imperial Rome, to contemplate sadly the 
nothingness of Fame, the failure of human effort : but Byron had 
an especial excuse for his hopelessness, and he shows the indom- 
itable courage of the idealist, when, after the gloom and depression 
of the earlier stanzas, he suddenly makes the splendid turn to 
faith and hope in the ninety-eighth. 

852. Earth's rulers,, etc.: The Empire was followed by a revival 
of absolute government in Europe. See Introduction. 

859. A Pallas: See classical dictionary. Byron was not alone 
in his day in turning from the apparently hopeless scene presented 
to a lover of freedom by European politics, to the brighter prospect 
of America. 

This stanza suggests the attitude, common at the time, of the 
followers of Rousseau, who believed that civilization was an evil 
and that the only remedy for it was a return to Nature. 

865. But France got drunk icith Mood, etc.: A painful but 
expressive figure : one aspect of a whole historic epoch summed up 
in a metaphor. 

866. Saturnalia: A Roman festival marked by the wildest license. 
871. The base pageant last upon the scene: ''By the base pageant 

Byron refers to the Congress of Vienna (September, 1815) : The 
Holy Alliance (September 26) into which the Duke of Wellingtoni 



198 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

would not enter, and the Second Treaty of Paris, November 20, 
1815." — E. H. Coleridge. 

872. Thrall is equivalent to thralldom. 

874. Yet J Freedom, yet etc.: This ringing stanza is one of the 
most memorable strains in Byron. It deserves to rank with the 
sonnet prefixed to The Prisoner of Chillon. T\'e see in it just why 
the young conspirators and lovers of liberty all over Europe looked 
to the poet as a leader. Each figure here has a meaning to be 
carefully studied. Note (line 881) that whatever personal griev- 
ance Byron may cherish against England, it is still to her that he 
turns when at his best, as to the protector of freedom. 

883. After the excitement in the last stanzas, Byron and his 
readers crave the relief of pensive meditation. Nothing could 
create this mood more swiftly than the Tomb of Cecilia Metella, on 
the Appian Way, which he now describes. As Byron suggests, we 
know nothing about this lady except that she was wife of the 
youngest Crassus, son of the Triumvir. The round tower which is 
her tomb was built during the reign of Augustus. 

905. Egypt's graceful queen: Cleopatra. 

Stanza CIV. In this and the following stanza, Byron drifts 
back into the vein of personal sentiment. The passage is meant 
±0 be pathetic and quiet. Compare a more delicate rendering of a 
similar mood in Shelley's exquisite Stanzas Written in Dejection, 
near X a pies. ♦ 

951. On the Palatine: The hill above the Forum, still covered 
with the great ruins of the Palace of the Caesars. 

955. Cypress and ivy, etc.: The ruins of Rome are not so roman- 
tic today as when Byron visited the city : for modern archaeologists 
have scraped them clear of the tangle of vines and mosses here 
described. On the other hand, we can meet his challenge and 
pronounce in many cases not only that "these are walls," but just 
what walls they were. Compare with the description in this stanza, 
the following passage from a letter of Shelley's, picturing the Baths 
of Caracalla, in which he wrote part of his lyrical drama, Pro- 
inclhcus Unhound. 

"Never was any desolation more sublime and lovely. The per- 
pendicular wall of ruin is cloven into steep ravines filled up with 
flowering shrubs, whose thick twisted roots are knotted in the 
rifts of the stones. ... In one of the buttresses are the crumbling 
remains of an antique winding staircase . . . This you ascend and 
arrive on the summit of these piles. There grow on every side 
thick entangled wildernesses of myrtle, and the myrletus, and bay, 
and the flowering laurestinus, whose white blossoms are just de- 
veloped, the white fig, and a thousand nameless plants sown by the 
wandering winds. . . . Come to Rome. It is a scene by which 
-expression is overpowered, which words can not convey." 

Stanza CYIIL Do you find Byron's moralizings fresh, or is there 
to your mind a certain monotony about them? How much space 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 199 

do you think it would take to put into prose the ideas in this canto 
of Cliilde HarolCi? 

975. Thou pendulum: A frequently quoted line. 

976. In tills span: Immediately around the Palatine, on which 
the poet is still meditating. 

981. Where are its golden roofs? The roofs of the enormous 
Golden House of Nero, extending from the Palatine to the Esquiiine. 

983. Nameless column: The column had ceased to be nameless 
in 1813, when it received the name of the Column of Phocas (A. D. 
COS). But modern archaeology ascribes it .o an earlier time, that 
cf Diocletian, A. D. 284. 

987. The Arch of Titus rises at the foot of the Palatine : the 
column under which Trajan was buried is at some distance. In 
1587 the statue of Trajan on the top was replaced by that of 
St. Peter. There was an old tradition that the ashes of the Em- 
peror were in an urn on the summit of the pillar. Trajan was 
one of the best of the Roman Emperors. 

1000. The rock of Triumph marked the spot on the Capitoline 
Hill where the Triumphs ended. The steep Tarpeian (1002) was the 
precipice from which criminals were thrown. See an effective 
scene placed above it in Hawthorne's The Marhle Faun, Vol. I, 
Ch. 18. 

1005. Yon field heloic: Throughout these last stanzas Byron, 
though his mind reams abroad, is seated on the Palatine looking 
down into the Forum. 

1009. The field of freedom, etc.: This stanza suggests in outline 
the whole history of Imperial Rome. 

1022. Rienzi: The mediaeval patriot who, inspired by the history 
of ancient Roman freedom, led a popular movement against the 
nobles and was given the classic title of Tribune in 1347. For his 
tragic story see Bulwer Lytton's novel, Rienzi, the Last of the 
Tril)unes. 

1026. Her new-'born Numa thou: Numa, one of the seven 
kings of Rome, a legendary law-giver, beloved and instructed, ac- 
cording to the myth, by the nymph Egeria. 

1031. Ni/mpholepsy: An ecstasy that possesses one who sees a 
nymph in spring or fountain. Byron means that Egeria may have 
been the hallucination of some fondly despairing man. See Brown- 
ing's poem, Xumpholeptos. 

1036. The mosses of thy fountain: About a mile and a quarter 
from the city, a footpath leads off from the Appian Way to a 
small wood, commanding a view of Rome, the Campagna, and 
the Alban Hills, and known as the Bosco Sacro, because Numa 
is said here to have met Egeria. Near at hand is the so-called 
*'Grotto of Egeria." "The grotto is a Nymphseum (a little sanctu- 
ary, sacred to a nymph), originally covered with marble, the shrine 
of the brook Almo, . . . and was erected at a somewhat late 
period." — Baedeker. 



200 SliOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

1047. Bills: Does this word give you a shock? Why? 

Stanzas CXX-CXXVII. These stanzas again form a long inter- 
lude expressing personal emotions very slightly connected with 
the sights of Rome. Roman history does not afford many instances 
of lovers or of youthful sentiment : Byron had to hark back to 
the legend of Egeria to find an occasion for his very modern mus- 
ings. The passage shows clear evidence of the influence of Shelley, 
whose Epipsychidion renders in more subtle and enchanting verse, 
a similar attitude and emotion. 

1085. The naked eye is the subject of the verbs in the preceding 
line. 

1086. The mind hath made thee: Byron was no student of 
Plato, as Shelley was, but at times throughout this passage his 
experience of disappointment leads him to use pseudo-platonie 
phrases. But Plato did not think that the image of beauty was 
a delusion created by the mind, but an elusive hint of a beauty 
really existent, invisible, and immortal. 

1108. We wither from our youth: Byron now extends his ar- 
raignment of life to cover a wider range than disappointed affection. 
There is a genuine note to the lines. Compare the Chorus of 
Furies in Shelley's Prometheus UnJjoundj Act. I, and the choruses 
in Swinburne's Atalanta in Calydon, for a similar pessimism. 

1109. Unslaked the thirst: Do you agree with Byron that the 
absence of satisfaction in earthly life is an evil? Or do you 
rather hold with Browning in RahM Ben Ezra, 

What I aspired to be, 
And was not, comforts me? 

1113. Love, fame, ambition, avarice: Might not faith, service, 
the thirst for sacrifice be also counted as impelling motives? 

1126. Our life is a false nature: This strong stanza is the 
climax of Byron's pessimism. 

1129. Upas: Look up the "Upas Tree," and explain the figure 
fuWy. 

1135. Yet let us ponder boldly: Byron suggests that in coura- 
geous thought is the only escape from life's miseries. 

1140. CaMn'd, cribbed, confined: Macbeth III, IV, 24. 

1143. Couch: Couching is an operation to remove a cataract by 
the use of a needle. 

1147. Coliseum: This largest theatre in the world, originally 
called the Flavian Amphitheatre, was completed by Titus in A. D. 
80. Gladiatorial combats and wild-beasts fights were the forms of 
amusement here offered to the Roman public, until 405 A. D., 
when the gladiatorial fights were forbidden. The first three 
stories were built upon great arches divided by columns. See 
Manfred, Act III, Scene IV, for another description of the Coliseum 
by night. 



CHILDE HAEOLD: XOTES 301 

Since Byron's time probably thousands of tourists have visited 
the Coliseum by moonlight. 

1169. stanzas CXXX-CXXXYIII. Byron does not contemplate 
the great monum-ents of history very long vv^thout turning from 
them to his own unhappy condition. Is ihe poetry better or worse 
for this habit of his? 

The following stanzas more than any others in the poem de- 
serve Matthew Arnold's descriptive phrase already quoted. Byron 
feels himself deeply wronged by the English public and by those 
nearest to him, and solemnly calls on Time to revenge and reinstate 
him. ''This wreck," the ruined Coliseum, is a dramatic background 
for his emotions. 

1184. Orestes: See a classical dictionary. 

1186. Had it but been from hands less near: In the next stanza 
Byron seems to imply that he might have thought his fate just 
had his punishment not been inflicted by those near to him. 

1196. For the sake: Probably the name which he checks him- 
self from speaking is that of his sister Augusta or his little 
daughter Ada. 

1207. That curse shall he Forgiveness: There is a striking par- 
allel to this fine turn in the first act of Shelley's Prometheus 
Unbound. The suffering Titan, representative of humanity, has 
learned through his pain to translate hate into pity, and despite 
the reluctance of the spiritual forces that represent the natural 
order, recalls the curse he has once pronounced on Jupiter, his 
tyrant. The recalling of this curse and the perfecting of forgive- 
ness in the Titan's soul is the signal for the dramatic action to 
open. Shelley may for once have been influenced by Byron, as he 
wrote in 1818, a year after this canto was published. 

1214. Not altogether of such clay: Perhaps there is not in 
English poetry a more arrogant passage than this. 

1221. The Janus glance: Janus, from whom our mid-winter 
month is named, was the Roman god who looked in two directions. 

1234. The seal is set: The curse is ended. If we are inclined 
to find the foregoing passage melodramatic, we must remember that 
Byron lived at the height of the Romantic movement. The essence 
of the Romantic temper is said by M. Brunetiere, the French critic, 
to be "the display of the Ego." 

Thou dread poicer: "The sentiment of antiquity," according ta 
one commentator. 

1250. Listed: The "Lists" were in the middle ages the grounds 
marked off for combat in a tournament. 

1252. The Gladiator: This famous statue in the Capitoline 
Museum is now known to represent, not a Gladiator dying in the 
Coliseum, but a Gaul, who may be dying on any battle-field. He 
is recognized as a Gaul by his twisted collar, short hair, and 
moustache. 

This is probably the best description of a work of art in Childe 



202 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Harold. Notice that it interprets, not the emotions aroused in 
Byron by the statue, as in the case of his description of the Tenus 
-de Medici, but the emotions which the Gaul himself feels. 

1269. Arise! ye Goths: A fine dramatic turn, suggesting the 
final conquest of Rome by the Goths and Vandals. 

1274. Millions' Name or praise^ etc.: "When one gladiator 
wounded another, he shouted, 'He has it,' 'Hoc habet,' or 'Habet.' 
The wounded combatant dropped his weapon, and, advancing to the 
edge of the arena, supplicated the spectators. If he had fought 
well, the people saved him, if otherwise, or as they happened to 
he inclined, they turned down their thumbs and he was slain." — 
Hothouse. 

1279. From its mass: In the Middle Ages the Coliseum was 
used as a stone quarry. 

1292. The garland forest: See Note, line 955. 

1293. Like laurels, etc.: "Suetonius informs us that Julius 
Caesar was particularly gratified by that decree of the senate which 
enabled him to wear a wreath of laurel on all occasions. He w^as 
anxious, not to show that he was the conqueror of the world, but 
to hide that he was bald." — Byron. 

1297. While stands the Coliseum, etc.: "This is quoted in the 
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire as a proof that the Coliseum 
was entire when seen by the Anglo-Saxon pilgrims at the end of 
the 7th or the beginning of the 8th century." — Byron. It is ascribed 
to the Venerable Bede, and the original reads: "Quamdiu stabit 
Coliseus, stabit et Roma ; quando cadet Coliseus, cadet Roma ; 
quando cadet Roma, cadet et mundus." 

1306. Simple, erect, etc.: Byron now leaves the Coliseum and 
turns abruptly to talking about another Roman monument, the 
Pantheon. The name of this building means "very sacred," not as 
Byron probably thought a temple of "all the gods." It was prob- 
ably dedicated to the gods of the seven planets. It is a round 
building, lighted only by an orifice in the dome. In 609 it was con- 
secrated as a Christian Church. It is the only ancient building 
in Rome still in perfect preservation. 

1324. There is a dungeon: Another abrupt turn. In the earlier 
part of the poem, the transitions are naturally effected by means 
of some association of ideas. But from now on Byron's method is 
more disconnected and the poem reads like a collection of stanzas 
dealing with various subjects, taken almost at random from his 
note-book. 

His own note reads : "This and the three next stanzas allude 
to the story of a Roman daughter, which is recalled to the traveler 
by the site or pretended site of that adventure now shown at the 
church of San Nicola in Carcere." The imprisoned father was sen- 
tenced to die by starvation, but the daughter nourished him by- 
milk from her breast. 

1341. Cai7i ivas Eve's: Byron enjoys giving a cynical twist to 



CHILDE HAEOLD: NOTES 203 

the end of a stanza. Compare line 1306. Cynicism and senti- 
mentality are never far apart. 

1360. The Mole: Now known as the Castle of St. Angelo. 
Erected by Hadrian in 136, for his own tomb. See the interesting 
summary of the history of the building in Baedeker. 

Stanzas CLIII-CLX. From ancient Rome we turn to the Rome 
of the Renaissance. Early Christian Rome had no interest for 
Byron. He now dedicates seven stanzas to the Basilica of St. 
Peter's, the great Church rebuilt by Bramante and Michelangelo. 
It is difficult to avoid feeling that in the case of buildings and 
works of art, Byron admired with docility what the taste of his 
age bade him admire. St. Peter's is a marvelous architectural 
monument, but to call it among all temples "worthiest of God, the 
Holy and the True," is to claim too much. 

1372. The Ephesian's miracle: The Temple of Diana of the 
Ephesians, alluded to in the Acts of the Apostles. 

1375. Sophia's bright roofs: The Mosque of Santa Sophia at 
Constantinople. 

1387. Overwhelms thee not: One appreciates the size of St. 
Peter's, not at once, but only after repeated visits. Byron expresses 
this fact effectively in the next stanzas. 

1396. Increasing ivith the advance: Can you parse "increas- 
ing" ? 

1398. Gigantic elegance: A good phrase for St. Peter's. Would 
it be a good phrase for an Alp? 

1402. Michael Angelo said of this dome that his plan would 
raise the Pantheon in air. 

1433. Laocoon^s torture: See classical dictionary. This is the 
statue which affords the text to Lessing's famous treatise on 
aesthetics. The Laocoon. 

1441. The Lord of the unerring hotv: The statue known as the 
Apollo Belvedere. 

1468. The Pilgrim of my song: Childe Harold, the nominal 
hero of the first two cantos, who has been lost to sight since the 
55th stanza of Canto III. We have not especially missed him, but 
as Byron draws to the end of his poem, he realizes that he must 
wind matters up, and these lines in which he dismisses his quondam 
hero into that general past of ruin on which he has throughout 
been dwelling, are clever and effective. 

1494. Fardels: Burdens : a Shakespearean word. 

1495. Hark! forth from the ahi/ss^ etc.: "From the thought 
of death the poet passes to th^ death of the Princess Charlotte, 
which happened when he was at Venice. No other event during 
the present century has caused so great a shock to public feeling 
in England ; and Byron himself, as we learn from his letters, was 
deeply moved by it. She was the only daughter of George IV, 
who at the time was Prince Regent, and consequently she was 
Heiress Presumptive to the British crown. She was virtuous, 



20-i SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

accomplished, large-hearted, and sympathetic, and the hopes of the 
nation were fixed upon her as one who might inaugurate an era 
of prosperity. On May 16, 1816, she married Prince Leopold of 
Saxe-Coburg (afterward king of the Belgians), and on Nov. 6, 
1817, she died in childbirth." — Tozer. 

Byron's deep and real feeling for his country, as well as his 
unfailing interest in political events, is evident in this passage. 

1537. Tumhles mightiest sovereigns: "Mary died on the scaf- 
fold ; Elizabeth of a broken heart ; Charles V, a hermit ; Louis XIV, 
a bankrupt in means and glory ; Cromwell, of anxiety ; and, 'the 
greatest is behind,' Napoleon lives a prisoner. To these sovereigns 
a long but superfluous list might be added of names equally illus- 
trious and unhappy." — Byron. 

1549. Lo Nemi: This time, the abruptness of the transition is 
painfully startling. The exquisite little Lake Nemi fills an extinct 
crater among the Alban Hills. This is the region to which belongs 
the strange and haunting old story alluded to in Macaulay's Battle 
of the Lake Regillus^ line 171. 

1561. The Latian coast: On this coast began the war cele- 
brated by Vergil in TJie Aeneid. 

1563. Beneath thy right: The allusion is to Cicero's villa at 
Tusculum. 

1566. The Sabine farm belonged to Horace. Byron chafed 
against classical studies, but they enabled him to enjoy the rich 
associations of a landscape like this. 

1574. Calpe's rock: Gibraltar. ^'Last may be the last time 
that Byron and Childe Harold saw the Mediterranean together. 
Byron had seen it in his return journey to England in 1811. Or 
by 'last' he may mean the last time that it burst upon his view. 
He had not seen the Mediterranean on his way from Geneva to 
Venice or on his way from Venice to Rome, but now from the 
Alban Mount the ocean was in full view." — E. H. Coleridge. 

1576. Symplegades: Two small islands near the entrance of the 
Euxine or Black Sea. 

1582. Gladdened hy the sun: Here is a much more wholesome 
note than many that the poet has struck. 

1586. One fair Spirit: Some commentators question whether 
Byron has in mind a spirit or a mortal. But the sequel surely 
makes it clear that he is thinking of a spirit. 

Stanzas CLXXVIII-CLXXXV: In spite of the diversity of 
subjects treated, this canto of the poem has had one ever- 
recurrent theme : the vanity of human life, illustrated by the 
personal experience of the poet, and by the transitoriness of 
human glory. It is with a fitting climax that he turns at the 
end to the abiding might and freedom of Nature. Coleridge, too, 
seeking in vain for Freedom in the range of human experience, 
finds it in Nature alone. 



CHILDE HAEOLD: XOTES 205 

Ye ocean-waves, which wheresoe'er ye rove, 
Yield homage only to eternal laws. 

— Ode to France. 

Do you find in these stanzas the intimate sense of communion 
with Nature conveyed by the poetry of Wordsworth ? Or does 
Byron impress you as using Nature after all chiefly for purposes 
of contrast? 

1620. There let him lay: This last unfortunate blunder has 
always made sport for the critics. Luckily the lines that it spoils 
are not among the best. 

1629. The Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar: The Spanish 
Armada and a large portion of the fleet captured by the British at 
Trafalgar were destroyed by storms. 

1632. Thy tcaters icashed them power: These maritime states 
all owed their supremacy to the facilities afforded them for com- 
merce by their sea-coasts. 

1661. My midnight lamp: It is rather a pity to be reminded 
that the poem is not composed high among the Alban Hills, gazing 
on the distant sea, but by the midnight lamp in the poet's own room. 



THOx¥AS BABINGTON, 
LORD MACAULAY 



207 



THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 

1800-1859. 
I. 

Macaulay's birth year is the birth year of a century. 
''It was on the twenty-fifth of October, 1800/' says his 
nephew and biographer, Trevelyan, "that Lord Macanlay 
opened his eyes on a world that he was destined so 
thoroughly to learn and so intensely to enjoy.*' 

Whether Macanlay really did learn the world thor- 
oughly may be questioned. That is a great claim. He 
had a remarkable knowledge of books, of political life, 
and of contemporary society; but there were many 
reaches of knowledge and experience that he never en- 
tered. Of his enjoA^ment of the world, however, there 
can be no doubt; it is a pleasure to dwell on a life so 
laborious and happy, so full of zest, energy, and satisfy- 
ing achievement. 

Macanlay had a good tradition behind him. His 
father, Zachary Macanlay, was actively concerned in 
abolishing the slave trade, and the son's childhood 
was passed in constant contact with the group of high- 
minded men concerned with this great issue. He was a 
sweet-tempered, affectionate boy, norm-al in everything 
except in his prodigious cleverness ; for like his contem- 
porary, John Stuart Mill, he was an infant phenom- 
enon. Many entertaining stories of his precocity may be 
read in the admirable biography by his nephew already 
alluded to. "Thank you. Madam, the agony is abated,'^ 

209 



210 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

replied the little fellow of four to an apologetic hostess 
when hot coffee had been spilled on his wee legs. From 
the age of three he read incessantly^ and what is more 
to the pointy remembered much. He picked up Scott's 
Laij of the Last Minstrel one day when he had accom- 
panied his mother on a call^ read contentedly while she 
chatted^ and on their return perched on the edge of her 
bed and repeated nearly the whole poem to her. In 
later years he nsed to say that if all copies of Paradise 
Lost and The Pilgriins Progress were to be destroyed, 
he could restore them from memory. Macanlay was no 
prig^ howevQi^, but a perfectly natural boy. His home- 
sick letters when away at school were just what one 
would like a schoolboy to write^ though few boys or 
men have command of such pellucid English. His 
parents never allowed a hint that he was cleverer than 
other children to reach him. In one w^ay the result 
was unfortunate: Macaulay always overestimated the 
attainments of other people. His "Every schoolboj^ 
knows^' became almost a proverbial expression, and one 
very discouraging to schoolboys. 

After a distinguished career at his university, Cam- 
bridge, Macaulay gained a fellowship, in 1824. He was 
called to the bar but never practiced. Politics and lit-"^ 
erature were to be the pursuits of his life. He was 
only twenty-five years old when his brilliant essay on 
Milton, which appeared in The Edinburgh Review, 
achieved a wide success. A few years later he entered 
Parliament. Zachary Macaulay, in spite of his philan- 
thropic ardor, had been a Tory. But his son was, when 
a very young man, converted to the principles of the 
Liberals, or, as they were then called, the Whigs. 



THOMAS EABIXGTON, LOED MACAULAY 211 

This party was novr in the ascGndant^ and stood for 
gradLual extension of political democracy. It neither 
clnng to the past like the Tories nor dreamed of a far 
future like the Radicals^ but was satisfied with a 
policy of moderate reform. Macanlay^ with his party, 
believed ardently in constitutional freedom. He thought 
that carefully protected and cautiously extended polit- 
ical rights plus free competition, with no State inter- 
ference in industry, would suffice to make England a 
perfectly prosperous country. It was at a propitious 
moment for him that he entered Parliament — just in 
time to play an effective part in the great fight that led 
to the indorsement of these principles in the Eeform 
Bill of 1832. This bill enlarged the franchise, ended 
much political corruption, and definitely placed the 
balance oi power in the hands of that middle and com- 
mercial class which was to control England during the 
nineteenth century as effectively as the aristocracy of 
birth had controlled it during the middle ages, or as 
the laboring classes want to control it in the future. 
It was to this middle class that Macaulay himself be- 
longed: he was to fight its battles, become its favorite 
author, and express its attitude better than any other 
writer of the Victorian age. 

Soon after the passage of the Eeform Bill, Macaulay 
received a reward for his services to his party by an 
appointment to the Indian Civil Service. After a few 
years in India, during which he wrote some of his best 
known essays, he came home, in 1838. He held high 
offices : at one time he was Secretary of War, at another 
Postmaster-General. But his political career is a little 
disappointing after his early promise. In truth, liter- 



212 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

ature rather than politics held his deepest love. In 
1842 he published the Lays of Ancient Rome, in 1843 a 
collection of his Essays. His literar}' fame was now 
high ; but it mounted yet more when he took advantage 
of an interval during which he held no seat in Parlia- 
ment^ to complete and publish^ in 1848^ the first two 
volumes of his masterpiece^ The History of England 
from the Accession of James II. If the story be true 
that Macaulay wanted to write a history which would 
appear on as many drawing-room tables as a popular 
novels he realized his ambition. He published two more 
volumes in 1855^ was raised to the House of Lords in 
1857^ and died of heart disease in 1859^ without having 
finished his history. The work was planned on so large 
a scale that human powers could hardly have sufficed to 
complete it. 

Macaulay never married. He was a kind, honorable, 
vigorous man, of great intellectual vitality. He was some- 
what self-confident, and people complained that he 
never let anyone else share in the talking: but there 
can seldom have been any one else in a room so well 
worth hearing. Many of his greatest contemporaries, 
— Carlyle, Xewman, Euskin, Arnold, — were stirred by 
deep dissatisfaction, spiritual and social. But to him 
the Liberal creed of his youth always seemed to solve all 
problems, and he rejoiced with unshaken cheer in the 
commercial prosjDerity, the spread of popular education, 
and the religious freedom, of his beloved country. 

II. 

Macaulay is known as a political writer, an essayist, 
an liistorian, and a writer of verse. His speeches are 



THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACArLAY 213 

today "undeservedly neglected : they are admirable in 
their way and there is no better record of the attitude of 
a high-minded Liberal during the reign of Victoria. But 
his popularity and his solid fame alike rest upon the 
other three departments of his work. 

Macaulay^s essays constituted a sort of university 
extension course in general knowledge for his contem- 
poraries^ and they retain a good deal of the same value 
today. They have the great advantage of being inter- 
esting: "The most restless of juvenile minds/^ saj^s 
l\h\ Saintsbury^ "if induced to enter one of Macaulaj^'s 
essays^ is almost certdn to reappear at the other end 
of it;, gratified and^ to an appreciable extent^ cultivated.^' 

The chief reason that Macaulay is so interesting is 
that he is interested himself. He writes on a large va- 
riety of themes^ and on each he has something fresh^ 
stimulating^ and convincing to say. These essays are 
usually nomiinal reviews of books^ but he is very little 
occupied with the book under discussion. He uses it 
only as a point of departure for his own ideas^ and in 
many a case the book is remembered in our day solely as 
having given occasion to the essay. In his themes^ 
English literature takes the lead^ with subjects derived 
from English history a good second. A smaller num- 
ber of notable essays deal with European letters or 
history. But the ostensible subject often allows a widely 
discursive treatment which would entitle Macaulay to 
hold Carlyle's imaginary chair^ as Professor of Things 
in General. 

It is the fashion nowadays to warn people that Ma- 
caulay's essays are shallow. This is true in a sense. 
Place him beside a critic like Matthew Arnold^ and the 



214 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

lack of sensitiveness and impartiality is evident at onee. 
Nothing ever was so simple as everything appeared to 
him: he labored^ as Saintsbnry says^ from ^'a constitu- 
tional incapacity for not making up his mind/^ Now^ 
life is a very complex affair^ and an overconfident person 
is snre to make blunders. Macanlay is prejudiced : 
Whig convictions determine his attitude toward every- 
thing in history and letters^ and his dogmatic tone ap- 
pears to us no longer a strength but a v/eakness. Yet^ 
when all is said, these essays are capital readings and 
to any one a little on his guard they afford an invalu- 
able introduction to their subjects. Only they should 
never be considered to have said the last word. 

Much in what v/e have been saying can be applied 
to the famous History. Macaulay's preferences had 
free play in this chronicle of the final overthrow in 
England of the ideal of absolute monarchy. He painted 
tis Stuarts and all belonging to them too blacky his 
William of Orange and the House of Hanover too 
white. After his daj^, a school of historians arose who 
tried to write without sympathies^ believing that truth 
can only be found apart from all personal prepossession. 
The controversy between these two schools is not yet 
settled^ but it is interesting to notice that the pendu- 
lum is just now sv/inging back a little toward the 
method of Macaulay. People are beginning to say 
that no historian can escape the *^^personal equation^^; 
that he may as well accept this fact and make the best 
of it^ giving us his own honest interpretation of history 
in a harmonized story, and leave correction to come from 
others who will tell the story in their turn from their 
own point of view. Whichever school may prevail, it is 



THOMAS BABIJN^GTON, LOED MACAULAY 215 

certain that Macaulay's History is better reading than 
that of many a more dispassionate writer. Some por- 
tions^ for example^ the well-known Chapter III^ which 
gives a picture of England in the seventeenth century, 
contrasting it with the England of Macanlay's own day, 
are extremely brilliant. 

Macanlay's prose style reflects the qualities of his 
mind. It has been accused of artificiality on account of 
its balance and symmetry; but the sharp antitheses, the 
habitual periodic structure, the effective if rather obvious 
use of climax, form a natural manner for a man like 
Macaula}^, who was always balancing thought against 
thought after the fashion of a parliamentary debater, 
who saw no half-shades, and was endowed with a great 
gift of systematizing material. Macaulay^s style is ex- 
cellent in exposition and in rapid narrative : moreover, 
it can rise to an effective eloquence. He can praise gen- 
erously, he can condemn crushingly. He builds up his 
style clause by clause, using language rather as a 
builder uses his bricks than as a musician uses his 
tones. But it is good building. 

III. 

It remains to speak of Macaulay's verse. That is 
the one aspect of his work which this little book pre- 
sents, and the Lays of Ancient Rome, which is here 
given, is his most important poetic writing, with the 
exception of one or two other ballads, such as Ivry and 
The Battle of Nasehy, From a man of such qualities 
as those on which we have just dwelt it would be idle 
to look for poetry of the highest order. Macaulay him- 
self was very modest about his poems and alluded to 



216 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

them as trifling things. These trifles, however, sold 
out edition after edition, and they richly deserve the 
popularity v\diich they have always retained. Macanlay 
does not qnicken our sense of the beauty or the mystery 
m the world. Xor is there any magic in these spirited 
metres such as haunts the ear in the cadences of Coleridge 
and Shelley. Indeed, the rhythm, though at its best it 
stirs the most sluggish blood, has at its worst something 
of that monotony that marks the cadences of Macaulay^s 
prose. But in spite of these limitations, he is an apa- 
thetic reader who is not moved by the Lays, for they 
treat heroic material v\dth contaoious enthusiasm : thev 
are the best imaginative rendering that English liter- 
ature possesses of the romantic legendary history of 
ancient Eome. 

These poems spring from the intimate knowdedge of 
classic antiquity which Macaulay shared with all edu- 
cated Englishmen of his day. The insistent drill in 
the classics which was then the distinctive feature of 
education is rapidly becoming, even in England, a thing 
of the past. Perhaps this is not to be regretted. But 
as one reads the Lays one can not help feeling that the 
training was worth something. It quickened imagi- 
native enthusiasm for the great past of civilization, a 
thing which is really quite as important for us to know 
about as is the past of nature : it fixed the mind on high 
and splendid examples. Even if we see the old edu- 
cation pass without a pang, we may profit by the fruits 
of it as seen in the intellectual achievement of Eng- 
land through many generations. Among these fruits, 
Macaulay's Lays hold an honorable place. 

Eightly to read and enjoy these poems one should be 



THOMAS BABINGTON, LOKD MACAULAY 21? 

familiar Avith the outlines of Eoman history : one should 
at least have read Livy. The notes can give chopped 
facts^ bnt they can not give the saving of the history 
nor the atmosphere of old Eoman days as Macanlay 
conceived it. His cvrn introductions help a great deal^ 
but even these presuppose more knowledge of Eoman 
civilization than the average boy possesses. We can not 
here write the History of Eome; but let us hint briefly 
where we must place ourselves to enjoy the Lays with 
intelligence. 

The Lays commemorate certain great and picturesque 
moments in Eoman legendary history. But they do 
more than this, for each is supposed to be. sung or 
said by a minstrel of later days. Thus Macaulay, as 
has not often enough been pointed out^ anticipates 
Browning in his use of the dramatic h'ric. He conceives 
these old Eoman minstrels^ each stirred by a thrilling 
crisis to celebrate some glorious legend of his race : it 
will be found on close study that each Lay is carefully 
written in character, and the poems thus throw a double 
light on the story of Eome as Macaulay conceived it. 
The circumstances under which each Lay was supposed 
to be sung, and the character and point of view of the 
imaginary minstrel, he has explained to us in his own 
introductions, considerable extracts from which follow 
this section. We have here therefore only to speak of the . 
legendary stories. 

If, then, we want to think ourselves back into the 
old Eoman traditions, the first Lay to read is The 
Prophecy of Capys. We are in the year of the founding 
of the city, the famous traditional date, 753 b. c. 
Through the rich country of the Alban hills, lying to the 



218 

south of Eome^ that still gleams across the Campagna 
from the higher points of the cit)^^ march "two goodly 
youths and tall/^ bearing in triumph on the tip of sword 
and spear two shaggy frowning heads. These are the 
She-Wolfs Litter, Romiilns and Eemiis^ the twins, who 
have slain the wicked king who usurped their rights, and 
his false priest, and return to their ancestral halls amid 
the plaudits of the simple country folk. Here in the 
hall gate sits Capys, the old seer. He trembles as he 
discerns the approach of Eomulus, and in ringing meas- 
ures, fire flashing from his blind eyes, pours forth a 
splendid prophecy of the founding of the city, and the 
future powder of Eome. The whole spirit of the Eoman 
dominion, as Macaulay conceived it, is in the stately 
stanzas from the fifteenth to the twenty-first. The ad- 
vancing conquests of the city are then outlined : victory 
over the Etruscans and the Gauls is commemorated, and 
finally the poem sweeps on into a vision of the event sup- 
posed to be comtemporary with the writing of it, the first 
victory of Eome over Greece, in the year 479 a. u. c. 
But the image that lingers in the reader^s mind is that 
of the bright, fierce foster-sons of the Wolf, true chil- 
dren of Mars, pausing in their triumphant advance to 
listen to the uplifted strains of the old bard. 

The next poems in the historical order are the twin 
lays, Horatius and The Battle of the Lal^e RegiUus. Both 
are inspired by the same phase of legendary history: 
the struggle of Eome against the wicked kings of the 
House of Tarquin. According to the legend, Eome was 
first governed by a monarchy, Eomulus being the first 
king. The last three kings belonged to an Etruscan 
dynasty. Their rule became increasingly hated, and 



THOMAS BABUSTGTOjST, LOED MACAULAY 219 

in 510 the infamous treatment of a noble Eoman 
matron^ Lncretia, by Sextns^ the son of the king 
Tarquinins Superbns^ resulted in a popular rising that 
expelled the kings and ended the monarchy. In 509 
the Eoman republic^ under tvfo consuls^ was established. 
Tarquin first invoked the aid of Lars Porsena^ the king 
of Etruria^, which lay to the north of Eome. Later^ in 
596^ he sought the protection of the league of thirty 
Latin cities^ to the south of Eome. Horatius presents 
an episode in the first struggle: The Battle of the Lake 
Regillus describes the conflict which ended the second. 
There is no need of recounting "how well Horatio kept 
the bridge/^ nor of pointing out how vividly the fighting 
is handled in the less dramatic but carefully wrought 
ballad of The Battle of the Lake Regillus. But it is 
Avorth while to suggest that the modern reader may read 
about Macaulay^s haughty Etruscans with added enjoy- 
ment if he realizes the fascination of that mysterious 
race. Their memories pursue and bafHe the traveler in 
Tuscany and L^mbria today. Many of the little towns 
whose names run so trippingly from the tongue as one 
declaims Macaula3^^s verses are still standing on their 
hills : the visitor will find in their walls and in their an- 
cient buildings, huge blocks that seem to have been carved 
by giants — all Etruscan work. He may^ if he likes^ pene- 
trate the gloom of old tombs underground^ and gaze on 
the lifelike recumbent effigies of Etruscan men and 
women^ antedating the earliest legendary history of 
Eome, who look solemnly upon him as the guide flashes 
the candle in their faces. A touch of awe will surely 
overcome him, and if he recalls Macaulay's lines he will 
realize with a new o^low the dramatic nature of the con- 



220 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

flict commemorated between the free^ rude soldier of 
ancient Eome and the tyrants sprang from that more 
ancient and dominant race^ whose civilization^ all but 
miraculous!}^ advanced^ was yet doomed to perish before 
the onward march of the Leoions. To the o:limnses of 

o ox 

the Etruscans^ the Romans^ and the Latins afforded by 
the Laijs, add the suggestions of beautiful Greek myth 
contained in the lay on the Battle of tlie Lal'e Eegilliis, 
and the great contending races in the Italian peninsula 
rise up before our eyes. 

One more episode from the early traditions of the 
cit)^ Macaulay gave us : the touching ballad of Virginia^ 
the only thing he ever wrote^ as has been justly observed^ 
that can make the tears come to the eyes. But here also 
the historic interest is as strong as the merely human. 
Since the battle of Lake Eegillus a long period has 
elapsed. The monarchy is past and gone : but in the 
republic the struggle for effective liberty now centers in 
the conflict of the patricians w^ith the plebeians. The 
ballad, written ' supposedly at one crisis in that long 
conflict, describes the tragic occasion of an early victory 
of the plebeians, and the establishment of those Tribunes 
who were the champions of popular rights. It shows us 
patrician insolence and tyranny, popular uprising, 
liberties sealed in innocent blood. 

Thus do the Lays give us glimpses of the founding of 
the city and of the m.ost significant moments in the 
legends of its early history. Add to these stories of the 
most stirring moments in the legendary past the constant 
suggestion of some real historic crisis through the cir- 
cumstances of the narration, and the value of the Lays 
to any one who would quicken his enthusiasm and his 



THOMAS BABIXGTO]^^, LOED MACAULAY 92X 

knowledge concerning the mighty cit}% for centuries the 
mivstress of the world^ may clearly be seen. 

SELECTIOXS FEOM MACAULAY'S IXTEODUC- 

TIOXS. 

GEXERAL IXTEODUCTIOX. 

That what is called the history of the Kings and early 
Consuls of Eome is to a great extent fabulons, few 
scholars have^ since the time of Beanfort^ ventured to 
deny. It is certain that;, more than three hundred and 
sixty years after the date ordinarily assigned for the 
foundation of the city^, the public records were^ with 
scarcely an exception^, destroyed by the Gauls. It is 
certain that the oldest annals of the Commonwealth 
were compiled more than a century and a half after 
this destruction of the records. It is certain^ therefore^, 
that the great Latin writers of later period did not 
possess those materials without which a trustworthy 
account of the infancy of the republic could not possibly 
be framed. They own^, indeed^, that the chronicles to 
which they had access were filled with battles that 
were never fought, and Consuls that never were inaugu- 
rated ; and we have abundant proof that, in those chron- 
icles, events of the greatest importance, such as the 
issue of the war with Porsena, and the issue of the 
war with Brennus, were grossty misrepresented. Under 
these circumstances a wise man will look with great 
suspicion on the legend which has come down to us. 
He will distrust almost all the details, not only because 
they seldom rest on any solid evidence, but also because 
he will constantly detect in them, even when they are 
within the limits of physical possibility, that peculiar 
character, more easily understood than defined, which 
distinguishes the creations of the imagination from the 
realities of the world in which we live. 

The early history of Eom.e is, indeed, far more poet- 



222 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

ical than anything else in Latin literature. The loves 
of the Vestal and the God of War, the cradle laid 
among the reeds of Tiber, the fig-tree, the she-wolf, 
the shepherd's cabin, the recognition, the fratricide, the 
rape of the Sabines, the death of Tarpeia, the fall of 
Hostus Hostilins, the struggle of Mettus Curtius 
through the marsh, the women rushing with torn rai- 
ment and dishevelled hair between their fathers and 
their husbands, the nightl)^ meetings of Xuma and the 
Nymph by the well in the sacred grove, the. fight of 
the three Eomans and the three Albans, the purchase 
of the Sibylline books, the crime of Tullia, the simu- 
lated madness of Brutus, the ambiguous reply of the 
Delphian oracle to the Tarquins, the wrongs of Lucre- 
tia, the heroic actions of Horatius Codes, of Scaevola, 
and of Cloelia, the battle of Eegillus won by the aid 
of Castor and Pollux, the defense of Cremera, the 
touching story of Coriolanus, the still more touching 
story of Virginia, the wild legend about the draining 
of the Alban lake, the combat between Valerius Corvus 
and the gigantic Gaul, are among the many instances 
which will at once suggest themselves to every reader. 

The Latin literature which has come down to us is of 
later date than the commencement of the Second Punic 
War, and consists almost exclusively of works fashioned 
on Greek models. 

But there was an earlier Latin literature, a litera- 
ture truly Latin, which has wholly perished, — which 
had, indeed, almost perished long before those whom 
we are in the habit of regarding as the greatest Latin 
writers were born. That literature abounded with met- 
rical romances, such as are found in every country 
where there is much curiosity and intelligence, but lit- 
tle reading and writing. All human beings, not utterly 
savage, long for some information about past times, and 
are delighted by narratives which present pictures to 
the eye of the mind. But it is only in very enlightened 
communities that books are readily accessilDle. Metrical 



THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACAULAY 223 

composition^ therefore^ wliich^ in a highly civilized na- 
tion^, is a mere luxury^ is^ in nations imperfectly civil- 
ized^ almost a necessary of life^ and is vahied less on 
account of the pleasure which it gives to the ear^ than 
on account of the help which it gives to the memory. 
A man who can invent or embellish an interesting story, 
and put it into a form which others may easily retain 
in their recollection^ will always be highly esteemed by 
a people eager for amusement and information^ but 
destitute of libraries. Such is the origin of ballad- 
poetry^ a species of composition which scarcely ever 
fails to spring up and flourish in every society^ at a 
certain point in the progress towards refinement. 

The proposition that Eome had ballad-poetry is not 
merely in itself highly probable^ but is fully proved by 
direct evidence of the greatest weight. 

This proposition being established, it becomes easy 
to understand why the early history of the city is un- 
like almost everything else in Latin literature, — native 
where almost everything else is borrowed, imaginative 
where almost everything else is prosaic. We can scarcely 
hesitate to pronounce that the magnificent, pathetic, 
and truly national legends, which present so striking 
a contrast to all that surrounds them, are broken and 
defaced fragments of that early poetry which, even in 
the age of Cato the Censor, had become antiquated, and 
of which Tully had never heard a line. 

That this poetry should have been suffered to perish 
will not appear strange when we consider how com- 
plete was the triumph of the Greek genius over the 
public mind of Italy. It is probable that at an early 
period Homer and Herodotus furnished some hints to 
the Latin minstrels; but it was not until after the war 
with Pyrrhus that the poetry of Eome began to put 
off its old Ausonian character. ... It is not im- 
probable that, at the time when Cicero lamented the 
irreparable loss of the poems mentioned by Cato, a 



224 SHOETEH EXGLISH POEMS 

search among the nooks of the Apennines^ as active as 
the search which Sir Walter Scott made among the 
descendants of the moss-troopers of Liddesdale, might 
have brought to light many fine remains of ancient 
minstrelsy. Xo snch search was made. The Latin bal- 
lads perished forever. Yet discerning critics have 
thought that they could still perceive in the early his- 
tory of Eome numerous fragments of this lost poetry, 
as the traveler on classic ground sometimes finds, built 
into the heavy wall of a fort or convent, a pillar rich 
with acanthus leaves, or a frieze where the Amazons and 
Bacchanals seem to live. The theaters and temples of 
the Greek and the Eoman were degraded into the quar- 
ries of the Turk and the Goth. Even so did the ancient 
Saturnian poetry become the quarry in which a crowd 
of orators and annalists found the materials for their 
prose. 

It is not difficult to trace the process by which tlie 
old songs were transmuted into the form which they 
now wear. Funeral panegyric and chronicle appear to 
have been the intermediate links which connected the 
lost ballads with the histories now extant. From a very 
early period it was the usage that an oration should be 
pronounced over the remains of a noble Eoman. The 
orator, as we learn from Polybius, was expected, on 
such an occasion, to recapitulate all the services which 
the ancestors of the deceased had, from the earliest time, 
rendered to the commonwealth. There can be little 
doubt that the speaker on whom this duty was imposed 
would make use of all the stories suited to his purpose 
which were to be found in the popular lays. There can 
be as little doubt that the family of an eminent man 
would preserve a copy of the speech which had been pro- 
nounced over his corpse. The compilers of the early 
chronicles would have recourse to these speeches, and 
the great historians of a later period would have recourse 
to the chronicles. 



THOMAS BABINGTON, LOED MACAULAY 225 

Such^ or nearly sucli^ appears to have been the process 
by which the lost ballad-poetry of Eome was trans- 
formed into history. To reverse that process^ to trans- 
form some portions of early Eoman history back into 
the poetry out of which they were made^ is the object of 
this work. 

In the following poems the author speaks, not in his 
own person, bnt in the persons of ancient minstrels who 
know only what a Eoman citizen, born three or four 
hundred years before the Christian era, may be supposed 
to have known, and who are in no wise above the pas- 
sions and prejudices of their age and nation. To these 
imaginary poets must be ascribed some blunders, which 
are so obvious that it is unnecessary to point them out. 
The real blunder would have been to represent these old 
poets as deeply versed in general history, and studious 
of chronological accuracy. To them must also be at- 
tributed the illiberal sneers at the Greeks, the furious 
party spirit, the contempt for the arts of peace, the 
love of war for its own sake, the ungenerous exultation 
over the vanquished, which the reader will sometimes 
observe. To portray a Eoman of the age of Camillus or 
Curius as superior to national antipathies, as mourning 
over the devastation and slaughter by which empire and 
triumphs were to be won, as looking on human suffering 
with the sympathy of Howard, or as treating conquered 
enemies with the delicacy of the Black Prince, would be 
to violate all dramatic propriety. The old Eomans had 
some great virtues, — fortitude, temperance, veracity, 
spirit to resist oppression, respect for legitimate author- 
ity, fidelity in the observing of contracts, disinterested- 
ness, ardent patriotism; l3ut Christian charity and 
chivalrous generosity were alike unknown to them. 

It would have been obviously improper to mimic the 
manner of any particular age or country. Something 
has been borrowed, however, from our own ballads, and 
more from Sir Walter Scott, the great restorer of our 
ballad-poetry. To the Iliad still greater obligations are 



226 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

due; and those obligations have been contracted with 
the less hesitation because there is reason to believe that 
some of the old Latin minstrels really had recourse to 
that inexhaustible store of poetical images. 



HOEATIUS. 

There can be little doubt that among those parts of 
early Eoman history which had a poetical origin was 
the legend of Horatins Codes. We haye seyeral yer- 
sions of the stor}^ and these yersions differ from each 
other in points of no small importance. Polybius^ there 
is reason to belieye^ heard the tale recited oyer the 
remains of some consul or prgetor descended from the 
old Horatian patricians; for he introduces it as a speci- 
men of the narratiyes with which the Eomans were in 
the habit of embellishing their funeral oratory. It is 
remarkable that;, according to him, Horatius defended 
the bridge aloue, and perished in the waters. According 
to the chronicles which Liyy and Dionysius followed^, 
Horatius had two companions^ swam safe to shore^ and 
was loaded with honors and rewards. 

It is by no means unlikely that there y\^ere two old 
Eoman lays about the defence of the bridge; and that;, 
while the story which Liyy has transmitted to us was 
preferred by the multitude, the other, which ascribed 
the whole glory to Horatius alone, may haye been the 
fayorite with the Horatian house. 

The following ballad is supposed to haye been made 
about a hundred and twenty years after the war which 
it celebrates, and just before the taking of Eome by the 
Gauls. The author seems to haye been an honest citi- 
zen, proud of the military glory of his country, sick of 
the disputes of factions, and much giyen to pining after 
good old times which had neyer really existed. The 
allusion, however, to the partial manner in which the 
public lands were allotted could proceed only from a 

227 



10 



228 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

plebeian ; and the allusion to the fraudulent sale of spoils 
marks the date of the poem^, and shows that the poet 
shared in the general discontent with which the pro- 
ceedings of Camillus^ after the taking of Yeii, were 
regarded. 

HOEATIUS. 

A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX. 



Lars Porsena of Clusium 

By the Nine Gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the K'ine Gods he swore it. 

And named a trysting day. 
And bade his messengers ride forth 
East and west and south and north, 

To summon his arraj\ 

2 

East and west and south and north 

The messengers ride fast, 
And tower and town and cottage 

Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
Shame on the false Etruscan 

"Who lingers in his home, 
^Yhen Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Eome. 

3 

The horsemen and the footmen 
Are pouring in amain 



KOEATIUS 229 

From many a stately market-place; 

From many a fruitful plain ; 
From many a lonely hamlet^ 

AYhicli^ hid by beech and pine^ 
Like an eaglets nest^ hangs on the crest 

Of purple x4pennine ; 



From lordly Yo]aterr89^ 

Where scowls the far-famed hold 
Piled by the hands of giants 

For godlike kings of old ; 
From seagirt Popnlonia^ 

"Whose sentinels descry 
Sardinians snowy monntain-tops 

Fringing the southern sky; 



From the proud mart of Pisse, 

Queen of the western waves, 
Where ride Massilia's triremes 

Heavy with fair-haired slaves ; 
From where sweet Clanis wanders 

Through corn and vines and flowers; 
From where Cortona lifts to heaven 

Her diadem of towers. 

6 

Tall are the oaks whose acorns 

Drop in dark Auser^s rill; 
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 

Of the Ciminian hill ; 



230 SHOKTEE EXGLISH POEMS 

Beyond all streams Clitumnus 
Is to the herdsman dear ; 

Best of all pools the fowler loves 
The great Yolsinian mere. 

7 

50 But now no stroke of woodman 

Is heard by xliiser^s rill ; 
No hunter tracks the stages green path 

Up the Ciminian hill ; 
Unwatched along Clitumnus 
55 Grazes the milk-white steer ; 

Unharmed the waterfowl may dip 
In the Volsinian mere. 



The harvest of Arretium^ 
m This year, old men shall reap, 

This year, young boys in Umbro 

Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 
And in the vats of Luna, 

This year, the must shall foam 
Bound the white feet of laughing girls 
65 Whose sires have marched to Eome. 

9 

There be thirty chosen prophets, 

The wisest of the land, 
AYho alway by Lars Porsena 

Both morn and evening stand : 
70 Evening and morn the Thirty 

Have turned the verses o'er. 



HOEATIUS 331 

Traced from the right on linen white 
By mighty seers of yore. 

10 

And with one voice the Thirty 

Have their glad answer given: 
^^Go f orth^ go f orth^ Lars Porsena ; 

Go forth, beloved of Heaven : 
Go, and return in glory 

To Clusiiim^s royal dome ; 
And hang round Nurscia^s altars 

The golden shields of Eome/^ 

11 

And now hath every city 

Sent np her tale of men : 
The foot are fourscore thousand^ 

The horse are thousands ten. 
Before the gates of Sutrinm 

Is met the great array. 
A proud man was Lars Porsena 

L^pon this trysting day. 

12 

For all the Etruscan armies 

ATere ranged beneath his eye^ 
And many a banished Eoman, 

xlnd many a stout ally ; 
And with a mighty following 

To join the muster came 
The Tusculan Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name. 



232 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

13 

But bj^ the yellow Tiber 
"Was tumult and affright : 
100 From all the spacious champaign 

To Eome men took their flight. 
A mile around the citv^ 

The throng stopped up the ways ; 
A fearful sight it was to see 
105 Through two long nights and days. 

14 

For aged folks on crutches, 

And women great with child^ 
And mothers sobbing over babes 

That clung to them and smiled, 
no And sick men borne in litters 

High on the necks of slaves, 
And troops of sunburnt husbandmen 

AVith reaping-hooks and staves, 

15 

And droves of mules and asses 
115 Laden with skins of wine, 

And endless flocks of goats and sheep. 

And endless herds of kine. 
And endless trains of wagons 
That creaked beneath the weight 
120 Of corn-sacks and of household goods. 

Choked every roaring gate. 

16 

Xow, from the rock Tarpeian, 
Could the wan burghers spy 



HOEATIUS 233 

The line of blazing villages 
125 Eed in the midnight sky. 

The Fathers of the City, 

They sat all night and day, 
For every hour some horseman came 

With tidings of dismay. 

17 

133 To eastward and to westward 

Have spread the Tuscan bands ; 
aSot house nor fence nor dovecote 

In Crustumerium stands. 
Yerbenna down to Ostia 
135 Hath wasted all the plain ; 

Astur hath stormed Janiculum, 
And the stout guards are slain. 

18 

Iwis, in all the Senate, 

There was no heart so bold, 
140 But sore it ached, and fast it beat. 

When that ill news was told. 
Forthwith up rose the Consul, 

Up rose the Fathers all ; 
In haste they girded up their gowns, 
145 And hied them to the wall. 

19 

They held a council standing 

Before the Eiver-Gate ; 
Short time was there, ye well may guess. 

For musing or debate. 



234 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

150 Out spake the Consul roundly : 

^*The bridge must straight go down; 
For^ since Janiculum is lost, 
Naught else can save the town/^ 

20 

Just then a scout came flying, 
155 All wild with haste and fear ; 

^^To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul : 

Lars Porsena is here/^ 
On the low hills to westward 
The Consul fixed his eye, 
160 And saw the swarthy storm of dust 

Eise fast along the sky. 

.21 

And nearer fast and nearer 

Doth the red whirhvind come ; 
And louder still and still more loud, 
(55 From underneath that rolling cloud, 

Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud. 

The trampling, and the hum. 
And plainly and more plainly 

K'ow through the gloom appears, 
1/0 Far to left and far to right. 

In broken gleams of dark-blue light, 
The long array of helmets bright. 

The long array of spears. 

22 

And plainly and more plainly 
1/5 Above that glimmering line, 



HOEATIUS 235 

Now might ye see the banners 

Of twelve fair cities shine ; 
But the banner of proud Clusium 

Was highest of them all, 
180 The terror of the Umbrian, 

The terror of the Gaul. 

23 
And plainly and more plainly 

Xow might the burghers know, 
By port and vest, by horse and crest, 
1^ Each warlike Lucumo. 

There Cilnius of Arretium 

On his fleet roan was seen ; 
And Astur of the four-fold shield. 
Girt with the brand none else may wield, 
190 Tolumnius with the belt of gold, 

And dark Yerbenna from the hold 
By reedy Thrasymene. 

24 
Fast by the royal standard. 
Overlooking all the war, 
193 Lars Porsena of Clusium 

Sat in his ivory car. 
By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
And by the left false Sextus, 
200 That wrought the deed of shame. 

25 

But when the face of Sextus 
Was seen among the foes, 



236 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

A yell that rent the firmament 
From all the town arose. 
205 On the house-tops was no woman 

But spat towards him and hissed, 

No child but screamed out curses, 
And shook its little fist. 

26 

But the ConsuFs brow was sad, 
210 And the ConsuFs speech was low. 

And darkly looked he at the wall, 

And darkly at the foe. 
^^Their van will be upon us 
Before the bridge goes down ; 
215 And if they once may win the bridge. 

What hope to save the town T^ 

27 
Then out spake brave Horatius, 

The Captain of the Gate : 
"To every man upon this earth 
220 Death cometh soon or late ; 

And how can man die better 
Than facing fearful odds, 
For the ashes of his fathers, 
And the temples of his Gods, 
28 
225 "And for the tender mother 

Who dandled him to rest. 
And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast, 
And for the holy maidens 
230 Who feed the eternal flame, 



HOEATIUS 33^ 

To save them from false Sextus 
That wrought the deed of shame ? 

29 

"Hew down the bridge^ Sir Consul, . 

With all the speed ye may ; 
I, with two more to help me, 

Will hold the foe in play. 
In yon strait path a thousand 

May well be stopped by three. 
Now who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge with me T^ 

30 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 

A Eamnian proud was he : 
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand. 

And keep the bridge with thee.^^ 
And out spake strong Herminius ; 

Of Titian blood was he : 
"I will abide on thy left side, 

And keep the bridge with thee.^^ 

31 

"Horatius/^ quoth the Consul, 

"k.% thou sayest, so let it be.'^ 
And straight against that great array 

Forth went the dauntless Three. 
For Eomans in Rome's quarrel 

Spared neither land nor gold, 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 

In the brave davs of old. 



238 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

32 

Then none was for a party; 

Then all were for the state ; 
Then the great man helped the poor, 
260 And the poor man loved the great : 

Then lands were f airl}^ portioned ; 

Then spoils were fairly sold : 
The Eomans were like brothers 

In the brave days of old. 

33 

285 Now Eoman is to Eoman 

More hateful than a foe, 
And the Tribunes beard the high, 
And the Fathers grind the low. 
As we wax hot in faction, 
270 In battle we wax cold : 

Wherefore men fight not as they fought 
In the brave days of old. 

34 

Now while the Three were tightening 
Their harness on their backs, 
275 The Consul was the foremost man 

To take in hand an axe : 
And Fathers mixed with Commons 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
And smote upon the planks above, 
280 And loosed the props below. 

35 
Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 
Eight glorious to behold, 



HOEATIUS 239 

Came flashing back the noonday lights 
Eank behind rank^ like surges bright 
2g5 Of a broad sea of gold. 

FoTir hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike glee^ 
As that great host^ with measured tread^ 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
290 Eolled slowly towards the bridge^s head, 

AYhere stood the dauntless Three. 

36 

The Three stood calm and silent, 

And looked upon the foes, 
And a great shout of laughter 
295 From all the vanguard rose ; 

And forth three chiefs came spurring 

Before that deep array ; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew. 
And lifted high their shields, and flew 
300 To win the narrow way; 

37 

Annus from green Tifernum, 

Lord of the Hill of Vines ; 
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 

Sicken in Ilva^s mines ; 
JQ5 And Picus, long to Clusium 

Vassal in peace and war, 
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
From that gray crag where, girt with towers. 
The fortress of l^equinum lowers 
310 O'er the pale waves of Xar. 



240 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

38 

Stout Lartiiis hurled down ATinus 

Into the stream beneath : 
Herminius struck at Seius^ 

And clove him to the teeth : 
815 At Picus brave Horatius 

Darted one fiery thrust ; 
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloodj^ dust. 

39 

Then Ocnus of Falerii 
32a Eushed on the Eoman Three ; 

And Lausulus of Urgo, 

The rover of the sea ; 
And Aruns of Volsinium, 

Who slew the great wild boar, 
325 The great wild boar that had his den 

Amidst the reeds of Cosa^s fen, 
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, 

Along Albinia's shore. 

40 

Herminius smote down Aruns : 
333 Lartius laid Ocnus low : 

Eight to the heart of Lausulus 

Horatius sent a blow. 
^^Lie there/^ he cried^ "fell pirate ! 
No more^ aghast and pale^, 
335 From Ostia^s walls the crowd shall mark 

The track of thy destroying bark. 
No more Campania's hinds shall fly 



HOEATIUS 341 

To woods and caverns when they spy 
Thy thrice accursed sail/^ 

41 

But now no sound of laughter 

Was heard among the foes. 
A wild and wrathful clamor 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears' lengths from the entrance 

Halted that deep arraj^^ 
And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way". 

42 

But hark ! the cry is Astur : 

And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
And the great Lord of Luna 

Comes with his stately stride. 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the four-fold shield, 
And in his hand he shakes the brand 

Which none but he can wield. 

43 

He smiled on those bold Romans 

A sm.ile serene and high ; 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 

And scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he_, "The she-wolfs litter 

Stand savagely at bay : 
But will ye dare to follow, 

If iVstur clears the way T^ 



242 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

4-i 

Then^ whirling up his broadsword 
365 With both hands to the height, 

He rushed against Horatins, 

And smote with all his might. 
AVith shield and blade Horatius 

Eight deftly turned the blow. 
370 The blow, though turned^ came yet too. nigh; 

It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 

To see the red blood flow. 

45 

He reeled, and on Herminius 
375 He leaned one breathing-space ; 

Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, 

Sprang right at Astur^s face. 
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, 
So fierce a thrust he sped, 
380 The good sword stood a handbreadth out 

Behind the Tuscan^s head. 

46 

And the great Lord of Luna 

Fell at that deadly stroke. 
As falls on Mount Alvernus 
385 A thunder-smitten oak. 

Far o'er the crashing forest 

The giant arms lie spread; 
And the pale augurs, muttering low. 

Gaze on the blasted head. 



HOKATIUS 343 

47 

390 On Astiir^s throat Horatins 

Eight fiercely pressed his heel, 
And thrice and four times tugged amain. 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
^^And see/' he cried, "the welcome, 
395 Fair guests, that waits you here ! 

What noble Lucunio comes next 
To taste our Eoman cheer ?*^ 

48 

But at his haughty challenge 
A sullen murmur ran, 
400 Mingled of wrath and shame and dreads, 

Along that glittering van. 
There lacked not men of prowess, 

Nor men of lordly race ; 
For all Etrurians noblest 
405 Were round the fatal place. 

49 

But all Etrurians noblest 

Felt their hearts sink to see 
On the earth the bloody corpses. 

In the path the dauntless Three : 
410 And, from the ghastly entrance 

Where those bold Eomans stood. 
All shrank, like boys who unaware, 
Banging the woods to start a hare, 
Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
415 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 

Lies amidst bones and blood. 



244 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

50 . 

Was none who would be foremost 
To lead such dire attack : 

But those behind cried "Forward V^ 
420 And those before cried "Back V^ 

And backward now and forward 
AYavers the deep array ; 

And on the tossing sea of steel, 

To and fro the standards reel; 
425 And the victorious trnmpet-peal 

Dies fitfully away. 

51 

Yet one man for one moment 
Stood out before the crowd; 

Well known was he to all the Three, 
430 And they gave him greeting loud, 

"Xow welcome^ welcome^ Sextus ! 
Now welcome to thy home ! 

Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? 
Here lies the road to Eome/^ 

53 

435 Thrice looked he at the city ; 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread ; 
And, white with fear and hatred, 
440 Scowled at the narrow way 

AYhere, wallowing in a pool of blood. 
The bravest Tuscans lay. 



HOEATIUS 245 

53 

But meanwhile axe and lever 

Have manfnlty been plied; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
^^Conie back, com^ back, Horatius V^ 

Loud cried the Fathers all. 
^^Back, Lartius ! back, Herminins ! 

Back, ere the ruin fall r^ 

54 
Back darted Spurins Lartins ; 

Herminins darted back : 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But when they turned their faces, 

And on the farther shore 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone. 

They would have crossed once more. 

55 

But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam. 
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream ; 
And a long shout of triumph 

Eose from the walls of Eome, 
As to the highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 

56 
And, like a horse unbroken 
When first he feels the rein^ 



246 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

The furious river struggled hard, 
470 And tossed his tawny mane, 

And burst the curb, and bounded, 
Eejoicing to be free. 

And whirling down, in fierce career 

Battlement, and plank, and pier, 
475 Bushed headlong to the sea. 

57 
Alone stood brave Horatius, 

But constant still in mind ; 
Thrice thirty thousand foes before. 
And the broad flood behind. 
480 *^^Down with him V^ cried false Sextus^ 

With a smile on his pale face. 
^^Now yield thee,"^ cried Lars Porsena^ 
^^Now yield thee to our grace.^^ 

58 
Eound turned he, as not deigning 
485 Those craven ranks to see ; 

Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, 

To Sextus naught spake he ; 
But he saw on Palatinus 

The white porch of his home ; 
490 And he spake to the noble river 

That rolls by the towers of Rome. 

59 
'^0 Tiber ! father Tiber ! 

To whom the Komans pray^, 
A Eoman's life, a Eoman^s arms, 
495 Take thou in charge this day V 



HOEATIUS 347 

So he spake^ and, speaking, sheathed 

The good sword by his side, 
And with his harness on his back 

Plunged headlong in the tide. 

60 

500 No sound of joy or sorrow 

Was heard from either bank ; 
But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
With parted lips and straining eyes, 

Stood gazing where he sank ; 
505 And when above the surges 

They saw his crest appear, 
All Eome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
And even the ranks of Tuscany 

Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

61 

510 But fiercely ran the current. 

Swollen high by months of rain : 
And fast his blood was flowing. 

And he was sore in pain. 
And heavy with his armor, 
515 And spent with changing blows : 

And oft they thought him sinking, 
But still again he rose. 

62 

I^ever, I ween, did swimmer, 
In such an evil case, 
520 Struggle through such a raging flood 

Safe to the landing-place : 



248 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

But his limbs were borne up bravely 

By the brave heart within ; 
And our good father Tiber 
525 Bore bravely up his chin. 

63 

"Curse on him r^ quoth false Sextus ; 

"Will not the villain drown ? 
But for this stay^ ere close of day 

AVe should have sacked the town !'' 
530 "Heaven help him ?^ quoth Lars Porsena^ 

"And bring him safe to shore ; 
For such a gallant feat of arms 

Was never seen before/^ 

64 

And now he feels the bottom ; 
535 Xow on dry earth he stands ; 

Now round him throng the Fathers 

To press his gory hands ; 
And now^ with shouts and clapping. 
And noise of weeping loud^ 
540 He enters through the Eiver-Gate, 

Borne by the joyous crov/d. 

65 

They gave him of the corn-land^ 

That was of public right, 
As much as two strong oxen 
545 Could plough from morn till right; 

x\nd they made a molten image^, 

And set it up on high, 



HOEATIUS 249 

And there it stands nnto this day 
To witness if I lie. 

66 

It stands in the Comitinm, 

Plain for all folk to see ; 
Horatius in his harness, 

Halting npon one knee : 
And underneath is written, 

In letters all of gold, 
How valiantly he kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

67 

And still his name sounds stirring 

Unto the men of Home, 
As the trnmpet-blast that cries to them 

To charge the Yolscian home ; 
And wives still pray to Juno 

For boys with hearts as bold 
As his who kept the bridge so well 

In the brave days of old. 

68 

And in the nights of vrinter, 

When the cold north-winds blow. 
And the long howling of the wolves 

Is heard amidst the snow ; 
When round the lonely cottage 

Eoars loud the tempest^s din. 
And the good logs of Algidus 

Eoar louder vet within : 



250 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

69 

When the oldest cask is opened^ 
575 And the largest lamp is lit ; 

When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 

And the kid turns on the spit ; 
When young and old in circle 
Around the firebrands close ; 
580 When the girls are weaving baskets 

And the lads are shaping bows ; 

70 

When the goodman mends his armor. 

And trims his helmet^s plume ; 
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 
585 Goes flashing through the loom, — 

With weeping and with laughter 

Still is the story told, 
How well Horatius kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS. 

The following poem is supposed to have been pro- 
duced ninety years after the lay of Horatius. Some 
persons mentioned in the lay of Horatius make their 
appearance again, and some appellations and epithets 
used in the lay of Horatius have been purposely re- 
peated; for, in an age of ballad-poetry, it scarcely ever 
fails to happen that certain phrases come to be appro- 
priated to certain men and things, and are regularly 
applied to those men and things by every minstrel. 

The principal distinction between the lay of Horatius 
and the lay of the Lake Eeofillus is, that the former 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 251 

is meant to be purely Eoman^ while the latter^ though 
national in its general spirit^ has a slight tincture of 
Oreek learning and of Greek superstition. The storj^ of 
the Tarquins^ as it has come down to us^ appears to 
have been compiled from the works of several popular 
13oets; and one at least of those poets appears to have 
yisited the Greek colonies in Italy^ if not Greece itself, 
and to have had some acquaintance with the works of 
Homer and Herodotus. Many of the most striking ad- 
yentures of the house of Tarquin, before Lucretia makes 
her appearance^ have a Greek character. 

In the following poem, therefore, images and inci- 
dents have been borrowed, not merely without scruple, 
but on principle, from the incomparable battle-pieces of 
Homer. 

The popular belief at Eome, from an early period, 
seems to have been that the event of the great day of 
Eegillus was decided by supernatural agency. Castor 
and Pollux, it is said, had fought, armed ancl mounted, 
at the head of the legions of the commonwealth, and 
had afterwards carried the news of the victory with 
incredible speed to the city. The well in the Forum 
at which they had alighted was pointed out. N'ear the 
well rose their ancient temple. A great festival was 
kept to their honor on the ides of Quintilis, supposed to 
be the anniversary of the battle ; and on that day sump- 
tuous sacrifices were offered to them at the public charge. 
One spot of the margin of Lake Eegillus was regarded 
during many ages with superstitious awe. A mark, 
resembling in shape a horse's hoof, was discernible in 
the volcanic rock; and this mark was believed to have 
been made by one of the celestial chargers. 

It is therefore conceivable that the appearance of 
Castor and Pollux may have become an article of faith 
before the generation which had fought at Eegillus had 
passed away. Xor could anything be more natural than 



252 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

that the poets of the next age should embellish this 
stor}% and make the celestial horsemen hear the tidings 
of victory to Eome. ... It was ordained that a 
grand muster and inspection of the equestrian body [the 
knights of Eome] should be part of the ceremonial 
performed on the anniversary of the battle of Eegillus 
in honor of Castor and Pollux^ the two equestrian gods. 
All the knights, clad in purple and crowned with olive, 
were to meet at the Temple of Mars in the suburbs. 
Thence they were to ride in state to the Forum, where 
the Temple of the Twins stood. This pageant was, dur- 
ing several centuries, considered as one of the most 
splendid sights of Eome. In the time of Dionysius the 
cavalcade sometimes consisted of five thousand horse- 
men, all persons of fair repute and easy fortune. 

Songs, we know, were chanted at the religious festivals 
of Eome from an early period; indeed, from so early a 
period that some of the sacred verses were popularly 
ascribed to Xuma and were utterly unintelligible in the 
age of Augustus. ... It is therefore likely that 
the Censors and Pontiffs, when they had resolved to add 
a grand procession of knights to the other solemnities 
annually performed on the ides of Quintilis, would call 
in the aid of a poet. 

THE BATTLE OP THE LAKE EEGILLUS. 

A LAY SUNG AT THE FEAST OF CASTOR AND POLLUX ON 

THE IDES OF QUINTILIS, IN THE YEAR 

OF THE CITY -CCCCLI. 



Ho, trumpets, sound a war note ! 

Ho, lictors, clear the way ! 
The Knights will ride in all their pride 

Along the streets to-day. 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 253 

To-day the doors and windows 

Are hung wdth garlands all^ 
From Castor in the Fornm 

To Mars without the wall. 
Each Knight is robed in purple^ 

With olive each is crowned ; 
A gallant war-horse under each 

Paws haughtily the ground. 
While flows the Yellow Eiver^ 

While stands the Sacred Hill^ 
The proud Ides of Quintilis 

Shall have such honor still. 
Gay are the Martian Kalends : 

December's Xones are gay : 
But the proud Ides, when the squadron rides. 

Shall be Eome's whitest day. 

2 

Unto the Great Twin Brethren 

We keep this solemn feast. 
Swift, swift, the Great Twin Brethren 

Came spurring from the east. 
They came o'er wild Parthenius, 

Tossing in waves of pine, 
O'er Cirrha's dome, o'er Adria's foam, 

O'er purple Apennine, 
From where with flutes and dances 

Their ancient mansion rings. 
In lordly Laceda^mon, 

The City of two kings, 
To where, by Lake Eegillus, 

Under the Porcian height, 



254 SHOETEK ENGLISH POEMS 

35 All in the lands of Tusculnm^ 

Was fought the glorious fight. 



Now on the place of slaughter 

Are cots and sheepfolds seen, 
And rows of vines, and fields of wheat, 
40 And apple-orchards green ; 

The swine crush the big acorns 
That fall from Corners oaks. 
Upon the turf by the Fair Fount 
The reapers pottage smokes. 
45 The fisher baits his angle ; 

The hunter twangs his bow ; 
Little they think on those strong limbs 

That moulder deep below. 
Little they think hov^ sternly 
50 That day the trumpets pealed ; 

' How in the slippery swamp of blood 

Warrior and war-horse reeled ; 
How wolves came with fierce gallop^ 
And crows on eager wings, 
55 To tear the flesh of captains. 

And peck the eyes of kings ; 
How thick the dead lay scattered 

Under the Porcian height ; 
How through the gates of Tusculum 
60 Eaved the wild stream of flight; 

And how the Lake Eegillus 

Bubbled with crimson foam, 
What time the Thirty Cities 
Came forth to war with Eome, 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 



But, Eoman^ when thou standest 

Upon that holy ground^ 
Look thou with heed on the dark rock 

That girds tlie dark lake round. 
So shalt thou see a hoof-mark 

Stamped deep into the flint : 
It was no hoof of mortal steed 

That made so strange a dint : 
There to the Great Twin Brethren 

Vow thou thy vows^ and pray 
That they, in tempest and in fight. 

Will keep thy head alway. 



Since last the Great Twin Brethren 

Of mortal eyes were seen, 
Have years gone by an hundred 

And fourscore and thirteen. 
That summer a Virginius 

Was Consul first in place ; 
The second was stout Aulus, 

Of the Posthumian race. 
The Herald of the Latines 

Prom Gabii came in state : 
The Herald of the Latines 

Passed through Eome^s Eastern Gate : 
The Herald of the Latines 

Did in our Forum stand ; 
And there he did his office, 

A sceptre in his hand. 



356 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

6 

^^Hear^ Senators and people 
Of the good town of Home, 
95 The Thirty Cities charge you 

To bring the Tarqnins home ; 
And if ye still be stubborn^ 

To work the Tarquins wrong, 
The Thirty Cities warn you, 
100 Look that your walls be strong/'^ 



Then spake the Consul Aulus, 

He spake a bitter jest : 
"Once the jays sent a message 
Unto the eaglets nest : 
105 Now yield thou up thine eyrie 

Unto the carrion-kite, 
Or come forth valiantly, and face 

The jays in mortal fight. 
Forth looked in wrath the eagle ; 
no And carrion-kite and jay. 

Soon as they saw his beak and claw^ 
. Fled screaming far away/^ 



The Herald of the Latines 
Hath hied him back in state ; 
115 The Fathers of the City 

Are met in high debate. 

Thus spake the elder Consul, 
An ancient man and wise : 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 35^ 

^^I^ow hearken, Conscript Fathers, 

To that which I advise. 
In seasons of great peril 

^T is good that one bear sway; 
Then choose we a Dictator, 

Whom all men shall obey. 
Camerium knows how deeply 

The sword of Aulns bites. 
And all our city calls him 

The man of seventy fights. 
Then let him be Dictator 

For six months and no more, 
And have a Master of the Knights, 

And axes twentv-four.^^ 



So Anlus was Dictator, 

The man of seventy fights ; 
He made ^bntius Elva 

His Master of the Knights. 
On the third morn thereafter. 

At dawning of the day, 
Did Aulns and ^butins 

Set forth with their array. 
Sempronius Atratinns 

Was left in charge at home 
With boys, and with gray-headed men, 

To keep the walls of Eome. 
Hard by the Lake Eegillns 

Our camp was pitched at night ; 
Eastward a mile the Latines lay, 

Under the Porcian height. 



258 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Far over hill and valley 
150 Their mighty host was spread ; 

And with their thousand watch-fires 
The midnight sky was red. 

10 

Up rose the golden morning 

Over the Porcian height^ 
155 The proud Ides of Quintilis 

Marked evermore with white. 
jSTot without secret trouble 

Our bravest saw the foes ; 
For girt by threescore thousand spears, 
160 The thirty standards rose. 

From every warlike city 

That boasts the Latian name^ 
Foredoomed to dogs and vultures, 

That gallant army came ; 
165 From Setia^s purple vineyards, 

From Norba^s ancient wall, 
From the white streets of Tusculum, 

The proudest town of all; 
From where the Witch's Fortress 
170 O'erhangs the dark-blue seas; 

From the still glassy lake that sleeps 

Beneath Aricia's trees, — 
Those trees in whose dim shadow 

The ghastly priest doth reign, 
175 The priest who slew the slayer. 

And shall himself be slain ; 
From the drear banks of Ufens, 

Where flights of marsh-fowl play. 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 359 

And buffaloes lie wallowing 
180 Through the hot sumnier^s day ; 

From the gigantic watch-towers, 

No work of earthly men, 
Whence Corals sentinels overlook 
The never-ending fen ; 
185 From the Lanrentian jungle, 

The wild hog^s reedy home ; 
From the green steeps whence Anio leaps 
In floods of snow-white foam. 

11 

Aricia, Cora, jSTorba, 
190 Velitrae, with the might 

Of Setia and of Tusculnm, 

Were marshalled on the right : 
The leader was Mamilins, 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
195 Upon his head a helmet 

Of red gold shone like flame ; 
High on a gallant charger 

Of dark-gray hue he rode; 
Over his gilded armor 
200 A vest of purple flowed, 

Woven in the land of sunrise 

By Syria's dark-browed daughters. 
And by the sails of Carthage brought 

Far o'er the southern waters. 

12 

205 Lavinium and Laurentum 

Had on the left their post, 



260 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

With all the banners of the marsh. 

And banners of the coast. 
Their leader was false Sextus, 
210 That wrought the deed of shame : 

With restless pace and haggard face 

To his last field he came. 
Men said he saw strange visions 

AVhich none beside might see, 
215 And that strange sounds were in his ears. 

Which none might hear but he. 
A woman fair and stately, 

But pale as are the dead, 
Oft through the watches of the night 
22Cf Sat spinning by his bed. 

And as she plied the distaff. 

In a sweet voice and low. 
She sang of great old houses, 

And fights fought long ago. 
225 So spun she, and so sang she. 

Until the east was gray, 
Then pointed to her bleeding breast. 

And shrieked, and fled away. 

13 

But in the centre thickest 
230 Were ranged the shields of foes, 

x4nd from the centre loudest 

The cry of battle rose. 
There Tibur marched and Pedum 
Beneath proud Tarquin^s rule, 
235 And Ferentinum of the rock. 

And Gabii of the pool. 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 261 

There rode the Volscian succors : 

There^ in a dark stern ring^ 
The Eoman exiles gathered close 

Aronnd the ancient king. 
Though white as Mount Soracte^ 

When winter nights are long^ 
His beard flowed down o'er mail and belt^ 

His heart and hand were strong ; 
Under his hoary eyebrows 

Still flashed forth quenchless rage, 
And^ if the lance shook in his gripe, 

'T was more with hate than age. 
Close at his side was Titus 

On an Apulian steed, 
Titus, the youngest Tarquin, 

Too good for such a breed. 

14 

Now on each side the leaders 

Gave signal for the charge ; 
And on each side the footmen 

Strode on with lance and targe ; 
And on each side the horsemen 

Struck their spurs deep in gore. 
And front to front the armies 

Met with a mighty roar : 
And under that great battle 

The earth with blood was red ; 
And, like the Pomptine fog at morn, 

The dust hung overhead ; 
And louder still and louder 

Eose from the darkened field 



262 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

The braying of the war-horns, 
The clang of sword and shield, 

The rush of squadrons sweeping 
I Like whirlwinds o'er the plain, 

The shouting of the slayers, 
And screeching of the slain. 

15 

False Sextus rode out foremost; 

His look was high and bold; 
His corselet was of bison's hide, 

Plated with steel and gold. 
As glares the famished eagle 

From the Digentian rock 
On a choice lamb that bounds alone 
' Before Bandusia's flock, 

Herminius glared on Sextus, 

And came with eagle speed, 
Herminius on black Auster, 

Brave champion on brave steed ; 
In his right hand the broadsword 

That kept the bridge so well. 
And on his helm the crown he won 

When proud Fidense fell. 
Woe to the maid whose lover 

Shall cross his path to-day ! 
False Sextus saw, and trembled, 

And turned, and fled away. 
As turns, as flies, the woodman 

In the Calabrian brake, 
1 AVhen through the reeds gleams the round eye 

Of that fell speckled snake ; 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 263 

So turned^ so fled^ false Sextus^ 

And hid him in the rear^ 
Behind the dark Lavinian ranks, 
300 Bristling with crest and spear. 

16 

But far to north ^butius, 

The Master of the Knights, 
Gave Tubero of Norba 
To feed the Porcian kites. 
305 Next under those red horse-hoofs , 

Flaccus of Setia lay ; 
Better had he been pruning 
Among his elms that day. 
Mamilius saw the slaughter, 
310 And tossed his golden crest, 

And towards the Master of the Knights 

Through the thick battle pressed, 
^butius smote Mamilius 
So fiercely on the shield, 
315 That the great lord of Tusculum 

Wellnigh rolled on the field. 
Mamilius smote ^^butius, 

AYith a good aim and true. 
Just where the neck and shoulder join, 
320 And pierced him through and through ; 

And brave ^butius Elva 

Fell swooning to the ground, 
But a thick wall of bucklers 
Encompassed him around. 
325 His clients from the battle 

Bare him some little space, 



264 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

And filled a helm from the da:?k lake, 
And bathed his brow and face ; 

And when at last he opened 
330 His swimming eyes to light. 

Men say, the earliest word he spake 
Was, "Friends, how goes the fight T^ 

17 

Bnt meanwhile in the centre 

Great deeds of arms were wrought; 
335 There Anlns the Dictator 

And there Valerius fought. 
Aulus with his good broadsword 

A bloody passage cleared 
To where, amidst the thickest foes, 
340 He saw the long white beard. 

Flat lighted that good broadsword 

Upon proud Tarquin^s head. 
He dropped the lance ; he dropped the reins ; 
He fell as fall the dead. 
345 Down Aulus springs to slay him, 

AVith eyes like coals of fire ; 
But faster Titus hath sprung down. 

And hath bestrode his sire. 
Latian captains, Eoman knights, 
350 Fast down to earth they spring, 

And hand to hand they fight on foot 

Around the ancient king. 
First Titus gave tall Caeso 
A death wound in the face ; 
355 Tall Caeso was the bravest man 

Of the brave Fabian race : 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE KEGILLUS 26£ 

Aulus slew Eex of Gabii, 

The priest of Jimo^s shrine : 
Valerius smote down J nlins, 

Of Eome^s great Jnlian line ; 
Julius^ who left his mansion 

High on the Velian hill, 
And through all turns of weal and woe 

Followed proud Tarquin still. 
Now right across proud Tarquin 

A corpse was Julius laid ; 
And Titus groaned with rage and grief. 

And at Valerius made. 
Valerius struck at Titus, 

And lopped off half his crest ; 
But Titus stabbed Valerius 

A span deep in the breast. 
Like a mast snapped b}^ the tempest, 

A^alerius reeled and fell. 
Ah ! woe is me for the good house 

That loves the people well ! 
Then shouted loud the Latines, 

And with one rush they bore 
The struggling Eomans backward 

Three lances^ length and more ; 
And up they took proud Tarquin, 

And laid him on a shield, 
And four strong yeomen bare him, 

Still senseless, from the field. 

18 

But fiercer grew the fighting 
Around Valerius dead ; 



266 SHORTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

For Titus dragged him by the foot, 

And Aulns by the head. 
^^On, Latinos, on !'^ qnoth Titus, 
390 ^'See how the rebels fly V 

^^Eomans, stand firm V^ quoth Aulus, 

"And win this fight or die ! 
They must not give A'alerius 
To raven and to kite ; 
395 For aye Valerius loathed the wrong, 

And aye upheld the right ; 
And for your Avives and babies 

In the front rank he fell. 
Now play the men for the good house 
400 That loves the people well V^ 

19 

Then tenfold round the body 

The roar of battle rose. 
Like the roar of a burning forest 

When a strong north-wind blows. 
405 ISTow backward, and now forward, 

Eocked furiously the fray. 
Till none could see Valerius, 

And none wist where he lay. 
For shivered arms and ensigns 
410 Were heaped there in a mound. 

And corpses stifi", and dying men 

That writhed and gnawed the ground ; 
And wounded horses kicking. 

And snorting purple foam ; 
415 Eight well did such a couch befit 

A Consular of Eome. 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 367 

20 

But north looked the Dictator; 

North looked he long and hard ; 
And spake to Cains Cossns^ 

The Captain of his Guard : 
^*^Caius^ of all the Eomans 

Thou hast the keenest sight ; 
Say, what through yonder storm of dust 

Comes from the Latian right T^ 

21 

Then answered Caius Cossus : 

"1 see an evil sight : 
The banner of proud Tusculum 

Comes from the Latian right ; 
I see the plumed horsemen ; 

And far before the rest 
I see the dark-gray charger, 

I see the purple vest ; 
I see the golden helmet 

That shines far off like flame ; 
So ever rides Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name/^ 

22 

^^JTow hearken, Caius Cossus : 

Spring on thy horse's back ; 
Eide as the wolves of Apennine 

Were all upon thy track; 
Haste to our southward battle, 

And never draw thy rein 



268 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Until thou find Herniinins^ 
And bid him come amain.'^ 

23 

445 So Anlus spake^ and turned him 

xlgain to that fierce strife ; 
And Cains Cossus mounted^ 

And rode for death and life. 
Lond clanged beneath his horse-hoofs 
450 The helmets of the dead^ 

And many a curdling pool of blood 
Splashed him from heel to head. 
So came he far to southward^ 
Where fought the Eoman host, 
455 Against the banners of the marsh 

And banners of the coast. 
Like corn before the sickle 
The stout Lavinians f ell^ 
Beneath the edge of the true sword 
460 That kept the bridge so well. 

24 

^^Herminius ! Aulus greets thee ; 

He bids thee come with speed. 
To help our central battle ; 

For sore is there our need. 
465 There wars the youngest Tarquin^ 

And there the Crest of Flame, 
The Tusculan Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name. 
Valerius hath fallen fighting 
470 In front of our array, 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS ggg 

And Aulus of the seventj^ fields 
Alone upholds the daj^^^ 

25 

Herminins beat his bosom^ 

But never a word he spake. 
He clapped his hand on Auster^s mane. 

He gave the reins a shake^ 
Away^ away went xluster^ 

Like an arrow from the bow ; 
Black Auster was the fleetest steed 

From Aufidus to Po. 

26 

Eight glad were all the Eomans 

Who^ in that hour of dread^ 
Against great odds bare up the war 

Around Valerius dead^ 
When from the south the cheering 

Eose with a mighty swell : 
^^Herminius comies^ Herminius, 

Who kept the bridge so well V^ 

27 

Mamilius spied Herminius, 

And dashed across the way. 
"Herminius ! I have sought thee 

Through many a bloody day. 
One of us two^ Herminius^ 

Shall nevermore go home. 
I will lay on for Tusculum^ 

And lay thou on for Eome V^ 



270 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

28 

All round them paused the battle. 

While met in mortal fray 
The Eoman and the Tusculan, 
500 The horses black and gray. 

Herminius smote Mamilius 

Through breastplate and through breast ; 
And fast flowed out the purple blood 

Over the purple vest. 
505 Mamilius smote Herminius 

Through head-piece and through head ; 
And side by side those chiefs of pride 

Together fell down dead. 
Down fell they dead together 
510 In a great lake of gore ; 

And still stood all who saw them fall 

While men might count a score. 

39 

Fast^ f ast^ with heels wild spurning. 

The dark-gray charger fled ; 
515 He burst through ranks of fighting men. 

He sprang o^er heaps of dead. 
His bridle far out-streaming. 

His flanks all blood and foam. 
He sought the southern mountains, 
520 The mountains of his home. 

The pass was steep and rugged. 

The wolves they howled and whined ; 
But he ran like a whirlwind up the pass. 

And he left the wolves behind. 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 271 

Through many a startled hamlet 

Thundered his flying feet ; 
He rushed through the gate of Tusculum, 

He rushed up the long white street ; 
He rushed by tower and temple, 

And paused not from his race 
Till he stood before his master^s door 

In the stately market-place. 
And straightway round him gathered 

A pale and trembling crowd, 
And when they knew him, cries of rage 

Brake forth, and wailing loud : 
And women rent their tresses 

For their great prince's fall ; 
And old men girt on their old swords. 

And went to man the wall. 

30 

But, like a graven image. 

Black Auster kept his place. 
And ever wistfully he looked 

Into his master's face. 
The raven-mane that daily, 

With pats and fond caresses. 
The young Herminia washed and combed. 

And twined in even tresses. 
And decked with colored ribands 

From her own gay attire. 
Hung sadly o'er her father's corpse 

In carnage and in mire. 
Forth with a shout sprang Titus, 

And seized black Auster's rein. 



272 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

555 Then Aulus sware a fearful oath. 

And ran at him amain. 
"The furies of thy brother 

With me and mine abide, 
If one of your accursed house 
560 Upon black Auster ride ?' 

As on an Alpine watch-tower 

Prom heaven comes down the flame. 
Full on the neck of Titus 
The blade of Aulus came ; 
565 And out the red blood spouted, 

In a wide arch and tall^ 
As spouts a fountain in the court 

Of some rich Capuan's hall. 
The knees of all the Latines 
570 Were loosened with dismay 

W^hen dead, on dead Herminius, 
The bravest Tarquin lay. 

31 

And Aulus the Dictator 

Stroked Auster^s raven mane, 
575 With heed he looked unto the girths. 

With heed unto the rein. 
"Now bear me well, black Auster, 

Into yon thick array ; 
And thou and I will have revenge 
580 For thy good lord this day.^^ 

33 

So spake he ; and was buckling 
Tighter black Auster^s band. 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE KEGILLUS 273 

When he was aware of a princely pair 

That rode at his right hand- 
So like they were, no mortal 

Might one from other know ; 
White as snow their armor was. 

Their steeds were white as snow. 
Never on earthly anvil 

Did such rare armor gleam ; 
• And never did such gallant steeds 

Drink of an earthly stream. 

33 

And all who saw them trembled. 

And pale grew every cheek; 
And Anlns the Dictator 

Scarce gathered voice to speak. 
^^Say by what name men call you? 

What city is your home ? 
And wherefore ride ye in such guise 

Before the ranks of Eome T^ 

34 

^^By many names men call us ; 

In many lands we dwell : 
Well Samothracia knows us ; 

Cyrene knows us well. 
Our house in gay Tarentum 

Is hung each morn with flowers ; 
High o'er the masts of Sj^racuse 

Our marble portal towers; 
But by the proud Eurotas / 

Is our dear native home ; 



374 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

And for the right we come to fight 
Before the ranks of Eome/^ 

35 

So answered those strange horsemen, 

xlnd each couched low his spear ; 
615 And forthwith all the ranks of Eome 

Were bold, and of good cheer. 
And on the thirty armies 

Came wonder and affright, 
And Ardea wavered on the left, 
620 And Cora on the right. 

^^Eome to the charge V^ cried Aulus ; 

^^The foe begins to yield ! 
Charge for the hearth of Vesta ! 

Charge for the Golden Shield ! 
625 Let no man stop to plunder, 

But sla5% and slay^, and slay; 
The gods who live forever 

Are on our side to-dav.'^ 

36 

Then the fierce trumpet-flourish 
630 From earth to heaven arose. 

The kites know well the long stern swell 

That bids the Eomans close. 
Then the good sword of Aulus 

Was lifted up to slay ; 
635 Then, like a crag down Apennine, 

Eushed Auster through the fray. 
But under those strange horsemen 

Still thicker lay the slain; 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE KEGILLUS 375 

And after those strange horses 
640 Black Anster toiled in vain. 

Behind them Eome^s long battle 

Came rolling on the foe^ 
Ensigns dancing wild above. 
Blades all in line below. 
645 So comes the Po in flood-time 

Upon the Celtic plain ; 
So comes the squall, blacker than night. 

Upon the Adrian main. 
Now, by our Sire Qiiirinns, 
650 It was a goodly sight 

To see the thirty standards 

Swept down the tide of flight. 
So flies the spray of Adria 

When the black squall doth blow, 
655 So corn-sheaves in the flood-time 

Spin down the whirling Po. 
False Sextus to the mountains 

Turned first his horse^s head ; 
And fast fled Perentinum, 
660 And fast Lavinium fled. 

The horsemen of Momentum 

Spurred hard out of the fray; 
The footmen of Velitrge 

Threw shield and spear away. 
665 And underfoot was trampled, 

Amidst the mud and gore, 
The banner of proud Tusculum, 

That never stooped before. 
And down went Flavins Faustus, 
670 Who led his stately ranks 



276 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

From where the apple-blossoms wave 

On Anio's echoing banks, 
And Tnlhis of Arpinnm, 

Chief of the Yolscian aids, 
675 And Metins with the long fair curls, 

The love of Anxnr^s maids, 
And the white head of Vnlso, 

The great Arician seer, 
And Nepos of Lanrentnm, 
680 The hunter of the deer ; 

And in the back false Sextns 

Felt the good Eoman steel, 
And wriggling in the dnst he died. 

Like a worm beneath the wheel. 
685 And fliers and pursuers 

Were mingled in a mass, 
And far away the battle 

Went roaring through the pass. 

37 

Sempronins Atratinns 
690 Sate in the Eastern Gate, 

Beside him were three Fathers, 

Each in his chair of state ; 
Fabius, whose nine stout grandsons 
That day were in the field, 
695 And Manlius, eldest of the Twelve 

Who kept the Golden Shield ; 
And Sergius, the High Pontiff, 

For wisdom far renowned ; 
In all Etruria's colleges 
700 Was no such Pontiff found. 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 27? 

And all around the portal, 

And high above the wall, 
Stood a great throng of people, 

But sad and silent all ; 
705 Young lads, and stooping elders 

That might not bear the mail. 
Matrons with lips that quivered. 

And maids with faces pale. 
Since the first gleam of daylight^ 
710 Sempronins had not ceased 

To listen for the rushing 

Of horse-hoofs from the east. 
The mist of eve was rising, 

The sun was hastening down, 
715 When he was aware of a princely pair 

Fast pricking towards the town. 
So like they were, man never 

Saw twins so like before ; 
Eed with gore their armor was, 
720 Their steeds were red with gore. 

38 

^^Hail to the great Asylum ! 

Hail to the hill-tops seven ! 
Hail to the fire that burns for aye, 

And the shield that fell from heaven ! 
725 This day, by Lake Eegillus, 

Under the Porcian height, 
All in the lands of Tusculum 

Was fought a glorious fight ; 
To-morrow your Dictator 
730 Shall bring in trium-ph home 



278 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

The spoils of thirty cities 

To deck the shrines of Eome V^ 

39 

Then burst from that great concourse 

A shout that shook the towers^ 
735 And some ran north^ and some ran south, 

Crying^ ^^The daj^ is ours V^ 
But on rode these strange horsemen, 

With slow and lordly pace ; 
And none who saw their bearing 
740 Durst ask their name or race. 

On rode thej^ to the Forum, 

While laurel-boughs and flowers, • 
From house-tops and from windows. 

Fell on their crests in showers. 
745 When they drew nigh to Vesta, 

They vaulted down amain, 
And washed their horses in the well 

That springs by Vesta's fane. 
And straight again they mounted, 
750 And rode to Vesta's door ; 

Then, like a blast, away they passed. 

And no man saw them more. 

40 

And all the people trembled. 
And pale grew every cheek ; 
755 And Sergius the High Pontiff 

Alone found voice to speak : 

^The gods who live forever 
Have fought for Eome to-day ! 



BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS 379 

These be the Great Twin Brethren 

To whom the Dorians pray. 
Back comes the Chief in triumph 

Who, in the hour of fight. 
Hath seen the Great Twin Brethren 

In harness on his right. 
Safe comes the ship to haven, 

Through billows and through gales. 
If once the Great Twin Brethren 

Sit shining on the sails. 
WTierefore they washed their horses 

In Vestals holy well, 
'V^Tierefore they rode to Vestals door, 

I know, but may not tell. 
Here, hard by Yesta^s Temple, 

Build we a stately dome 
Unto the Great Twin Brethren 

Who fought so well for Eome. 
And when the months returning 

Bring back this day of fight. 
The proud Ides of Quintilis, 

Marked evermore with white. 
Unto the Great Twin Brethren 

Let all the people throng. 
With chaplets and with offerings. 

With music and with song ; 
And let the doors and windows 

Be hung v\dth garlands all, 
And let the Knights be summioned 

To Mars without the wall. 
Thence let them ride in purple 

With joyous trumpet-sound, 



:;^80 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Each mounted on his war-horse. 

And each with olive crowned ; 
And pass in solemn order 

Before the sacred dome^ 
795 Where dwell the Great Twin Brethren 

Who fought so well for Eome V^ 

VIEGINIA. 

A collection consisting exclusively of war-songs would 
give an imperfect^ or rather an erroneous^ notion of 
the spirit of the old Latin ballads. The Patricians^ 
during more than a century after the expulsion of the 
Ivings^ held all the high military commands. A Plebeian^ 
even though, like Lucius Siccius, he were distinguished 
by his valor and knowledge of war, could serve only in 
subordinate posts. A minstrel, therefore, who wished 
to celebrate the early triumphs of his country, could 
hardly take any but Patricians for his heroes. The 
warriors who are mentioned in the two preceding lays — 
Horatius, Lartius, Herminius, Aulus Posthumius, ^bu- 
tius Elva, Sempronius Atratinus, Valerius Poplicola — 
were all members of the dominant order. 

But there was a class of compositions in which the 
great families were by no means so courteously treated. 
Xo parts of early Eoman history are richer with poetical 
coloring than those which relate to the long contest 
between the privileged houses and the commonalty. The 
population of Eome was, from a very early period, 
divided into hereditary castes, which, indeed, readily 
united to repel foreign enemies, but which regarded each 
other, during many years, with bitter animosity. . . . 
Among the grievances under which the Plebeians suf- 
fered, three were felt as peculiarly severe. They were 
excluded from the highest magistracies; they were ex- 
cluded from all share in the public land ; and they were 
ground down to the dust by partial and barbarous legis- 
lation touching pecuniary contracts 



VIEGINIA 281 

The Plebeians were;, however^ not wholly withont con- 
stitutional rights. From an earty period they had been 
admitted to some share of political power. . . . The 
Plebeians had also the privilege of annually appointing 
officers^ named Tribunes^ who had no active share in the 
government of the Commonwealth^ bnt who^ by degrees^ 
acquired a pov/er formidable even to the ablest and most 
resolute Consuls and Dictators. The person of the 
Tribune was inviolable; and^ though he could directly 
effect little;, he could obstruct everything. 

During more than a century after the institution of 
the Tribuneship^ the Commons struggled manfully for 
the removal of grievances under which they labored; 
and^ in spite of many checks and reverses^ succeeded in 
wringing concession after concession from the stubborn 
aristocracy. At length, in the year of the city 378, 
both parties mustered their whole strength for their last 
and most desperate conflict. The popular and active 
Tribune, Caius Licinius, proposed the three memorable 
laws which are called by his name, and which were 
intended to redress the three great evils of which the 
Plebeians complained. 

During the great Licinian contest the Plebeian poets 
were, doubtless, not silent. . . . These minstrels, as 
Niebuhr has remarked, appear to have generally taken 
the popular side. We can hardly be mistaken in sup- 
posing that, at the great crisis of the civil conflict, they 
employed themselves in versifying all the most powerful 
and virulent speeches of the Tribunes, and in heaping 
abuse on the leaders of the aristocracy. Every personal 
defect, every domestic scandal, every tradition dishonor- 
able to a noble house, would be sought out, brought into 
notice, and exaggerated. . . . During the Licinian 
conflict, Appius Claudius Crassus signalized himself by 
the ability and severity with which he harangued against 
the two great agitators. He would naturally, therefore, 
be the favorite mark of the Plebeian satirists ; nor would 



282 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

they have been at a loss to find a point on which he was 
open to attack. 

His grandfather, called, like himself, Appius Claudius, 
had left a name as much detested as that of Sextns 
Tarquinius. He had been Consul more than seventy 
years before the introduction of the Licinian lavfs. By 
availing himself of a singular crisis in public feeling, 
he had obtained the consent of the Commons to the 
abolition of the Tribuneship, and had been chief of 
that Council of Ten to which the whole direction of the 
state had been committed. In a few months his adminis- 
tration had become universally odious. It was swept 
away by an irresistible outbreak of popular fur}^, and its 
memory was still held in abhorrence by the whole city. 
The immediate cause of the downfall of this execrable 
government was said to have been an attempt made by 
Appius Claudius to get possession of a beautiful young 
girl of humble birth. 

It can hardly be doubted that a story so admirably 
adapted to the purposes both of the poet and of the 
demagogue would be eagerly seized upon by minstrels 
burning with hatred against the Patrician order, against 
the Claudian house, and especially against the grandson 
and namesake of the infamous Decemvir. 

In order that the reader may judge fairly of these 
fragments of the lay of Virginia, he must imagine him- 
self a Plebeian who has just voted for the reelection of 
Sextius and Licinius. All the power of the Patricians 
has been exerted to throw out the two great champions 
of the Commons. Every Posthumius, ^milius, and 
Cornelius has used his influence to the utmost. Debtors 
have been let out of the workhouses on condition of 
voting against the men of the people ; clients have been 
posted to hiss and interrupt the favorite candidates; 
Appius Claudius Crassus has spoken with more than his 
usual eloquence and asperity: all has been in vain; 
Licinius and Sextius have a fifth time carried all the 
tribes; work is suspended; the booths are closed; the 



VIRGINIA 383 

Plebeians bear on their shoulders the two champions of 
liberty through the Forum. Just at this moment it is 
announced that a popular poet^, a zealous adherent of 
the Tribunes, has made a new song which will cut the 
Claudian nobles to the heart. The crowd gathers round 
him^ and calls on him to recite it. He takes his stand 
on the spot where, according to tradition, Virginia, more 
than seventy years ago, was seized by the pander of 
Appius, and begins his story. 



YIEGINIA. 

FRAGMEN^TS OF A LAY SUXG IN THE FORUM ON THE DAY 
AVHEREON LUCIUS SEXTIUS SEXTIXUS LATERANUS AND 
CAIUS LICINIUS CALYUS STOLO WERE ELECTED TRIBUNES 
OF THE COMMONS THE FIFTH TIME, IN THE YEAR OF 
THE CITY CCCLXXXII. 

Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and 

true, 
Who stand by the bold Tribunes that still have stood 

by you, 
Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with 

care, 
A tale of what Eome once hath borne, of what Eome 

yet may bear. 
5 This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine, 
Of maids with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine. 
Here, in this very Forumi, under the noonday sun. 
In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done. 
Old men still creep among us v/ho saw that fearful day, 
10 Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked Ten 

bare swav. 



284 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Of all tlie wicked Ten still the names are held accursed, 
And of all the wicked Ten Appins Claudius was the 

worst. 
He stalked along the Fornm like King Ta^rqnin in his 

pride ; 
Twelve axes waited on him, six marching on a side ; 
15 The townsmen shrank to right and left, and eyed askance 

with fear 
His lowering brow, his curling month, which always 

seemed to sneer : 
That brow of hate, that mouth of scorn, marks all the 

kindred still; 
For never was there Claudius yet but wished the 

Commons ill; 
ISTor lacks he fit attendance ; for close behind his heels, 
20 With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client 

Marcus steals. 
His loins girt up to run with speed, be the errand what 

it may. 
And the smile flickering on his cheek, for aught his 

lord may say. 
Such varlets pimp and jest for hire among the lying 

Greeks : 
Such varlets still are paid to hoot when brave Licinius 

speaks. 
25 Wherever ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd ; 
Wherever ye fling the carrion^ the raven's croak is loud; 
Where'er down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy pike ye 

see; 
And wheresoever such lord is found, such client still 

will be. 



yiKGINIA 385 

Just then^ as through one cloudless chink in a black 

stormy sky^ 
30 Shines out the dewy morning-star, a fair young girl 

came by. 
With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on 

her arm, 
Home she went bounding from the school, nor dreamed 

of shame or harm ; 
And past those dreaded axes she innocently ran, 
With bright, frank brow that had not learned to blush 

at gaze of man ; 
35 And up the Sacred Street she turned, and, as she danced 

along, 
She warbled gayly to herself lines of the good old song. 
How for a sport the princes came spurring from the 

camp, 
And found Lucrece, combing the fleece, under the mid- 
night lamp. 
The maiden sang as sings the lark, when up he darts his 

flight, 
40 From his nest in the green April corn, to meet the 

morning light; 
And Appius heard her sweet young voice, and saw her 

sweet young face. 
And loved her with the accursed love of his accursed 

race. 
And all along the Forum, and up the Sacred Street, 
His vulture eye pursued the trip of those small glancing 

feet. 



286 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

45 Over the Alban mountains the light of morning broke ; 
From all the roofs of the Seven Hills curled the thin 

wreaths of smoke. 
The cit3'-gates were opened ; the Forum all alive, 
AYith buyers and with sellers was humming like a hive. 
Blithely on brass and timber the craftsman's stroke was 

ringing, 
50 And blithely o'er her panniers the market-girl was 

singing, 
And blithely young Virginia came smiling from her 

home : 
Ah ! woe for young Virginia, the sweetest maid in Eome ! 
With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on 

her arm. 
Forth she went bounding to the school, nor dreamed of 

shame or harm. 
55 She crossed the Forum shining with stalls in alleys gay, 
x\nd just had reached the very spot whereon I stand this 

day. 
When up the varlet Marcus came; not such as when 

erewhile 
He crouched behind his patron's heels with the true 

client smile : 
He came with lowering forehead, swollen features, and 

clenched fist, 
60 And strode across Virginia's path, and caught her by 

the wrist. 
Hard strove the frighted maiden, and screamed with 

look aghast; 
And at her scream from right and left the folk came 

running fast ; 
The money-changer Crispus, with his thin silver hairs. 



VIEGINIA 287 

And Hanno from the stately booth glittering with Punic 

wares^ 
65 And the strong smith Mnraena^ grasping a half -forged 

brandy 
And Volero the flesher^ his cleaver in his hand. 
All came in wrath and wonder; for all knew that fair 

child ; 
And, as she passed them twice a dajy all kissed their 

hands and smiled; 
And the strong smith Mnrsena gave Marcus such a blow, 
70 The caitiff reeled three paces back, and let the maiden go. 
Yet glared he fiercely round him, and growled in harsh, 

fell tone, 
^^She\^ mine, and I will have her : I seek but for mine 

own: 
She is my slave, born in my house, and stolen away and 

sold. 
The j^ear of the sore sickness, ere she was twelve hours 
^ old. 
75 ^T was in the sad September, the month of wail and 

fright. 
Two augurs Avere borne forth that morn ; the Consul died 

ere night. 
I wait on Appius Claudius, I waited on his sire ; 
Let him who works the client wrong beware the patron^s 

ire ?' 

So spake the varlet Marcus; and dread and silence 
came 
80 On all the people at the sound of the great Claudian 
name. 



288 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

For then there was no Tribune to speak the word of 

might, 
Which maJ^es the rich man tremblC;, and guards the jDoor 

man^s right. 
There was no brave Licinius, no honest Sextius then ; 
But all the city^, in great fear^ obeyed the wicked Ten. 
85 Yet ere the varlet Marcus again might seize the maid^ 
Who clung tight to Mursena's skirt^ and sobbed and 

shrieked for aid, 
Forth through the throng of gazers the young Icilius 

pressed;, 
And stamped his foot^ and rent his gown^ and smote 

upon his breast^ 
And sprang upon that column^ by many a minstrel sung, 
90 Whereon three mouldering helmets^ three rusting swords^ 

are hung, 
And beckoned to the people, and in bold voice and clear 
Poured thick and fast the burning words that tyrants ~ 

quake to hear. 

^^Xow, by your children's cradles, now by your fathers^ 

graves, 
Be men to-day, Quirites, or be forever slaves ! 
95 For this did Servius give us laws? For this did Lucrece^ 

bleed? 
For this was the great vengeance wrought on Tarquin's 

evil seed ? 
For this did those false sons make red the axes of their 

sire? 
For this did Scaevola's right hand hiss in the Tuscan fire? 
Shall the vile fox-earth awe the race that stormed the 

lion's den? 



YIKGINIA 289 

100 Shall we^ who could not brook one lord^ crouch to the 

wicked Ten ? 
Oh for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate^s 

will ! 
Oh for the tents which in old time whitened the Sacred 

Hill ! 
In those brave days our fathers stood firmly side by side ; 
They faced the Marcian fury; they tamed the Fabian 

pride ; 
105 They drove the fiercest Quinctius an outcast forth from 

Eome ; 
They sent the haughtiest Claudius with shivered fasces 

home. 
But what their care bequeathed us our madness flung 

away : 
All the ripe fruit of threescore years was blighted in a 

day. 
Exult, ye proud Patricians ! The hard-fought fight is o'er. 
no We strove for honors — 't was in vain ; for freedom — 

't is no more. 
No crier to the polling summons the eager throng ; 
No Tribune breathes the word of might that guards the 

weak from wrong. 
Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath 

your will. 
Eiches, and lands, and power, and state — ye have 

them : — keep them still. 
115 Still keep the holy fillets ; still keep the purple gown, 
The axes, and the curule chair, the car, and laurel crown : 
Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is 

done. 



290 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

Still fill your garners from the soil which our good 

swords have won. 
Stilly like a spreading nlcer^ which leech-craft may not 

cnre^ 
120 Let your foul usance eat away the substance of the poor. 
Still let your haggard debtors bear all their fathers bore ; 
Still let your dens of torment be noisome as of yore ; 
Xo fire when Tiber freezes ; no air in dogstar heat ; 
And store of rods for free-born backs^ and holes for free- 
born feet. 
125 Heap heavier still the fetters; bar closer still the grate; 
Patient as sheep we yield us up unto your cruel hate. 
But^ by the Shades beneath us^ and by the gods above^ ' 
Add not unto your cruel hate your yet more cruel love ! 
Have ye not graceful ladies^ whose spotless lineage 

springs 
130 From Consuls^ and High Pontiffs^ and ancient Alban 

kings ? 
Ladies^ who deign not on our paths to set their tender 

feet. 
Who from their cars look down with scorn upon the 

wondering street^ 
Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles 

behold^ 
And breathe of Capuan odors^ and shine with Spanish 

gold? 
135 Then leave the poor Plebeian his single tie to life — 
The sweet;, sweet love of daughter^, of sister, and of wife, 
The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul 

endures, 
The kiss, in which he half forgets even such a yoke as 

yours. 



yiEGijsriA 291 

Still let the niaiden^s beauty swell the father's breast 

with pride ; 
140 Still let the bridegroom^s arms infold an nnpollnted 

bride. 
Spare us the inexpiable wrongs the nnntterable shame^ 
That turns the coward's heart to steely the sluggard's 

blood to flame^ 
Lest;, when our latest hope is fled^ ye taste of our despair^ 
And learn by proofs in some wild hour^ how much the 

wretched dare." 



145 Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside. 
To where the reeking shambles stood^ piled up with horn 

and hide, 
Close to yon low dark archway, where, in a crimson flood. 
Leaps down to the great sewer the gurgling stream of 

blood. 
Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down ; 
150 Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown. 
And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began 

to swell, 
And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, ^Tarewell, sweet 

child ! Farewell ! 
Oh, how I loved my darling ! Though stern I some- 
times be, 
To thee, thou know'st, I was not so. "Who could be so to 

thee? 
155 And how my darling loved me ! How glad she was to 

hear 
My footstep on the threshold when I came back last year ! 



292 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic crown, 
And took my sword, and hnng it up, and brought me 

forth my gown ! 
Xow all those things are over, — yes, all thy pretty ways, 
160 Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays ; 
And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I 

return. 
Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn. 
The house that was the happiest within the Eoman walls. 
The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble 

halls, 
165 N'ow, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal 

gloom. 
And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb. 
The time is come. See how he points his eager hand 

this way ! 
She how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's upon 

the prey ! 
With all his wit, he little deems that, spurned, betrayed, 

bereft, 
170 Thy father hath in his despair one fearful refuge left. 
He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can 

save 
Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of 

the slave ; 
Yea, and from nameless evil, that passeth taunt and 

blow, — 
Foul outrage which thou knowest not, which thou shalt 

never know. 
175 Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me 

one more kiss ; 



YIEGES^A 293 

And now^ mine ovrn dear little girl^ there is no way but 

this/"^ 
With that he lifted high the steely and smote her in the 

side^ 
And in her blood she sank to earthy and with one sob 

she died. 

Then^ for a little moment, all people held their breath ; 
180 And through the crowded Fornm was stillness as of 

death ; 
And in another moment brake forth from one and all 
A cry as if the Yolscians were coming o^er the vrall. 
Some with averted f^ces shrieking fled home amain; 
Some ran to call a leech; and some ran to lift the slain; 
185 Some felt her lips and little wrist^ if life might there be 

found ; 
And some tore up their garments fast^ and strove to 

stanch the wound. 
In vain they ran^ and felt^ and stanched^ for never truer 

blow 
That good right arm had dealt in fight against a 

Yolscian foe. 

When Appius Claudius saw that deed^ he shuddered 
and sank down^ 
190 And hid his face some little space with the corner of his 
gown, 
Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Yirginius tot- 
tered nigh, 
And stood before the judgment-seat, and held the knife 

on high. 
^^0 dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain. 



294: SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

By this dear blood I cry to yon^ do right between us 

twain ; 
195 And even as Appins Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, 
Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line V^ 
So spake the slayer of his child^ and turned^ and went 

his way ; 
But first he cast one haggard glance to where the body 

lay, 
And writhed^ and groaned a fearful groan^ and then, 

with steadfast feet, 
200 Strode right across the market-place unto the Sacred 

Street. 

Then uj) sprang Appius Claudius : ^^Stop him, alive or 

dead! 
Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings 

his head r^ 
He looked upon his clients ; but none would work his will. 
He looked upon his lictors ; but they trembled and stood 

still. 
205 And, as Virginius through the press his way in silence 

cleft. 
Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left. 
And he hath passed in safety unto his woful home. 
And there ta^en horse to tell the camp what deeds are 

done in Eome. 

By this the flood of people was swollen from every side, 
210 And streets and porches round were filled with that over- 
flowing tide ; 
And close around the body gathered a little train 
Of them tliat were the nearest and dearest to the slain. 



YIEGINIA 395 

They brought a bier^ and hung it with many a cypress 

crown^ 
And gently they uplifted her^ and gently laid her down. 
215 The face of Appius Claudius wore the Claudian scowl 

and sneer, 
And in the Claudian note he cried^ ^"IMiat doth this 

rabble here ? 
Have they no crafts to mind at home^ that hitherward 

they stray ? 
Ho ! lictors, clear the market-place, and fetch the corpse 

away r^ 
The voice of grief and fury till then had not been loud ; 
220 But a deep sullen murmur wandered among the crowd, 
Like the moaning noise that goes before the whirlwind 

on the deep, 
Or the growl of a fierce watch-dog but half aroused from 

sleep. 
But when the lictors at that word, tall yeomen all and 

strong, 
Each with his axe and sheaf of twigs, went down into the 

throng, 
225 Those old men say, who saw that day of sorrow and of 

sin. 
That in the Eoman Forum was never such a din. 
The wailing, hooting, cursing, the howls of grief and 

hate, 
Were heard beyond the Pincian Hill, beyond the Latin 

Gate. 
But close around the body, where stood the little train 
230 Of them that were the nearest and dearest to the slain, 
Xo cries were there, but teeth set fast, low whispers and 

black frowns. 



296 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

And breaking np of benches^ and girding up of gowns ; 
^Twas well the lictors might not pierce to where the 

maiden Islj, 
Else snrelj^ had they been all twelve torn limb from limb 

that day. 
235 Eight glad they were to struggle back^ blood streaming 

from their heads^ 
With axes all in splinters^ and raiment all in shreds. 
Then Appins Clandins gnawed his lip and the blood left 

his cheek ; 
And thrice he beckoned with his hand^ and thrice he 

strove to speak ; 
And thrice the tossing Forum set up a frightful yell : 
240 ^^SeO;, see^ thou dog ! what thou hast done ; and hide thy 

shame in hell ! 
Thou that wouldst make our maidens slaves must first 

make slaves of men. 
Tribunes ! Hurrah for Tribunes ! Down with the wicked 

Ten V' 
And straightway^ thick as hailstones^ came whizzing 

through the air 
Pebbles^ and bricks^ and potsherds^ all round the curule 

chair ; 
245 And upon Appius Claudius great fear and trembling 

came ; 
For never was a Claudius yet brave against aught but 

shame. 
Though the great houses love us not^ we own, to do them 

right, 
That the great houses, all save one, have borne them well 

in fight. 
Still Caius of Corioli, his triumphs and his wrongs, 



VIEGINIA 297 

250 His vengeance and his mercy^ live in our camp-fire songs. 
Beneath, the joke of Furiiis oft have Gaul and Tuscan 

bowed ; 
And.Eome may bear the pride of him of whom herself is 

proud. 
But evermore a Claudius shrinks from a stricken field, 
And changes color like a maid at sight of sword and 

shield. 
255 The Claudian triumphs all were won within the city 

towers ; 
The Claudian yoke was never pressed on any necks but 

ours. 
A CossuS;, like a wild-cat^ springs ever at the face; 
A Fabius rushes like a boar against the shouting chase; 
But the vile Claudian litter, raging with currish spite^ 
260 Still yelps and snaps at those who run, still runs from 

those who smite. 
So now ^t was seen of Appius. When stones began to fly. 
He shook, and crouched^ and wrung his hands, and smote 

upon his thigh. 
^^Kind clients, honest lictors, stand by me in this fray ! 
Must I be torn in pieces? Home, home, the nearest 

way V^ 
265 AYhile yet he spake, and looked around with a bewildered 

stare, 
Four sturdy lictors put their necks beneath the curule 

chair ; 
And fourscore clients on the left, and fourscore on the 

right, 
Arrayed themselves with swords and staves, and loins 

girt up for fight. 



298 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

But^ though without or staff or sword^ so furious was the 

throngs 
270 That scarce tlie train witli might and main could bring 

tlieir lord along. 
Twelve times the crowd made at him; five times they 

seized his gown ; 
Small chance was his to rise again, if once they got him 

down. 
And sharper came the pelting ; and evermore the yell — 
"^''Tribunes ! we will have Tribunes !^' rose with a louder 

swell. 
275 And the chair tossed as tosses a bark with tattered sail 
When raves the Adriatic beneath an eastern gale, 
When the Calabrian sea-marks are lost in clouds of 

spume, 
And the great Thunder Cape has donned his veil of inky 

gloom. 
One stone hit Appius in the mouth, and one beneath 

the ear ; 
280 And ere he reached Mount Palatine, he swooned with 

pain and fear. 
His cursed head, that he was wont to hold so high with 

pride, 
Xow, like a drunken man's, hung down, and swayed 

from side to side; 
And when his stout retainers had brought him to his 

door. 
His face and neck were all one cake of filth and clotted 

gore. 
285 As Appius Claudius was that day, so may his grand- 
son be ! 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 299 

God send Rome one sncli other siglit^ and send me there 
to see ! 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS. 

It can hardly be necessary to remind any reader that^ 
according to the popular tradition^ Eomnlns, after he 
has slain his grand-nncle^ Amnlius^ and restored his 
grandfather Xnmitor^ determined to qnit Alba^ the 
hereditary domain of the Sylvian princes^, and to fonnd 
a new city. The gods, it was added, vouchsafed the 
clearest signs of the favor with which they regarded 
the enterprise, and of the high destinies reserved for the 
young colony. 

This event was likely to be a favorite theme of the 
old Latin minstrels. They would naturally attribute the 
project of Eomulus to some divine intimation of the 
power and prosperity which it was decreed that his city 
should attain. They would probably introduce seers 
foretelling the victories of unborn consuls and dictators, 
and the last great victory would generally occupy the 
most conspicuous place in the prediction. There is 
nothing strange in the supposition that the poet who 
was employed to celebrate the first great triumph of 
the Eomans over the Greeks might throw his song of 
exultation into this form. 

The occasion was one likely to excite the strongest 
feelings of national pride. A great outrage had been 
followed by a great retribution. Seven years before this 
time, Lucius Posthumius Megellus, who sprang from 
one of the noblest houses of Eome, and had been thrice 
Consul, was sent ambassador to Tarentum, with charge 
to demand reparation for grievous injuries. The Taren- 
tines gave him audience in their theatre, where he ad- 
dressed them in such Greek as he could command, which, 
we m.ay well believe, was not exactly such as Cineas 
would have spoken. An exquisite sense of the ridiculous 



300 SHOETEE E:^^GLISH POEMS 

belonged to the Greek character; and closely connected 
with this faculty was a strong propensity to flippancy 
and impertinence. When Posthnmins placed an accent 
wrong, his hearers bnrst into a laugh. When he remon- 
strated, they hooted him, and called him a barbarian; 
and at length hissed him off the stage as if he had been 
a bad actor. As the grave Eoman retired, a buffoon, 
who, from his constant drunkenness, was nicknamed the 
Pint Pot, came np with gestures of the grossest inde- 
cency, and bespattered the senatorial gown with filth. 
Posthnmins tnrned round to the mnltitnde, and held 
up tha gown, as if appealing to the universal law of 
nations. The sight only increased the insolence of the 
Tarentines. They clapped their hands, and set up a 
shout of laughter which shook the tlieatre. ^^Men of 
Tarentum/^ said Posthumius, ^^it will take not a little 
blood to wash this gown.^^ 

Rome, in consequence of this insult, declared war 
against the Tarentines. The Tarentines sought for allies 
beyond the Ionian Sea. Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, came 
to their help with a large army; and, for the first time, 
the two great nations of antiquity were fairly matched 
against each other. 

The fame of Greece in arms, as well as in arts, was 
then at the height. Half a century earlier, the career of 
Alexander had excited the admiration and terror of all 
nations from the Ganges to the Pillars of Hercules. 
Eoyal houses, founded by Macedonian captains, still 
reigned at Antioch and Alexandria. That barbarian 
warriors, led by barbarian chiefs, should win a pitched 
battle against Greek valor guided by Greek science, 
seemed as incredible as it would now seem that the 
Burmese or the Siamese should, in the open plain, put 
to flight an equal number of the best English troops. 
Of the Greek generals then living, Pyrrhus 
was indisputably the first. Among the troops who were 
trained in the Greek discipline, his Epirotes ranked high. 
His expedition to Italy was a turning-point in the his- 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 301 

tory of the world. He found there a people who, far 
inferior to the Athenians and Corinthians in the fine 
artS;, in the specnlative sciences, and in all the refine- 
ments of life, were the best soldiers on the face of the 
earth. Their arms^ their gradations of rank, their order 
of battle, their method of intrenchment, were all of 
Latian origin, and had all been gradnallj^ brought near 
to perfection, not by the study of foreign models, but by 
the genius and experience of many generations of great 
native commanders. The first words which broke from 
the king, when his practised eye had surveyed the Eoman 
encampment, were full of meaning : "These barbarians,'^ 
he said, "have nothing barbarous in their military 
arrangements.^^ He was at first victorious; for his own 
talents were superior to those of the captains who were 
opposed to him; and the Eomans were not prepared for 
the onset of the elephants of the East, which were then 
for the first time seen in Italy, — moving mountains, 
with long snakes for hands. But the victories of the 
Epirotes were fiercely disputed, dearly purchased, and 
altogether unprofitable. At length, Manius Curius Den- 
tatus, who had in his first consulship won two triumphs, 
was again placed at the head of the Eoman Common- 
wealth, and sent to encounter the invaders. A great bat- 
tle was fought near Beneventum. Pyrrhus was com- 
pletely defeated. He repassed the sea; and the world 
learned with amazement that a people had been dis- 
covered who, in fair fighting, v/ere superior to the best 
troops that had been drilled on the system of Parmenio 
and Antio^onus. 



It is said by Florus, and may easily be believed, that 
the triumph far surpassed in magnificence any that 
Eome had previously seen. The only spoils which 
Papirius Cursor and Fabius Maximus could exhibit 
were flocks and herds, v\'agons of rude structure, and 
heaps of spears and helmets. But now, for the first 
time, the riches of Asia and the arts of Greece adorned 



302 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

a Eoman pageant. Plate, tine stuffs^ costly furniture^ 
rare animals^ exquisite paintings and sculptures, formed 
part of the procession. At the banquet would be assem- 
bled a crowd of warriors and statesmen. 

On such a day we may suppose that the patriotic 
enthusiasm of a Latin poet would vent itself in reiterated 
shouts of ^^lo Triumphe/^ such as were uttered by Horace 
on a far less exciting occasion, and in boasts resembling 
those which A^irgil, two hundred and fifty years later, 
put into the mouth of Anchises. The superiority of 
some foreign nations, and especially of the Greeks, in 
the lazy arts of peace, would be admitted with disdainful 
candor; but preeminence in all the qualities which fit a 
people to subdue and govern mankind would be claimed 
for the Eomans. 

The following lay belongs to the latest age of Latin 
ballad-poetry. iSTsevius and Livius Andronicus were 
probably among the children whose mothers held them 
up to see the chariot of Curius go by. The minstrel 
who sang on that day might possibly have lived to read 
the first hexameters of Ennius, and to see the first 
comedies of Plautus. His poem, as might be expected, 
shows a much wider acquaintance with the geography, 
manners, and productions of remote nations than would 
have been found in compositions of the age of Camillus. 
But he troubles himself little about dates ; and having 
heard travelers talk with admiration of the Colossus of 
Rhodes, and of the structures and gardens with which 
the Macedonian kings of Syria had embellished their 
residence on the banks of the Orontes, he has never 
thought of inquiring whether these things existed in the 
age of Eomulus. 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 303 

THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS. 

LAY SUXG AT THE BAXQUET IX THE CAPITOL^ OX 
THE DAY WEI ERE OX MAXIUS CURIUS DEXTATUS, A 
SECOXD TT^LE COXSUL^ TEIUZvIPHED OVER KIXG 
PYRRIIUS AXD THE TAREXTIXES, IX THE YEAR OF 
THE CITY CCCCLXXIX. 

1 

Xow slain is King Amulins, 

Of the great Sylvian line, 
Who reigned in Alba Longa, 

On the throne of Aventine. 
Slain is the Pontiff Gamers, 

Who spake the words of doom : 
"The children to the Tiber ; 

The mother to the tomb/^ 

2 
In Albans lake no fisher 

His net to-day is flinging; 
On the dark rind of Albans oaks 

To-day no axe is ringing; 
The yoke hangs o^er the manger; 

The scythe lies in the hay; 
Through all the Alban villages 

Xo work is done to-day. 

3 

And every Alban burgher 

Hath donned his whitest gown; 

And every head in Alba 
"Weareth a poplar crown; 



304 SHORTER ENGLISH POEMS 

And every Alban doorpost 

With boughs and flowers is gay ; 

For to-day the dead are living; 
The lost are found to-day. 



25 They were doomed by a bloody king; 

They were doomed by a lying priest ; 
They were cast on the raging flood; 

They were tracked by the raging beast. 
Eaging beast and raging flood 
30 Alike have spared the prey; 

And to-day the dead are living; 
The lost are found to-day. 



The troubled river knew them^, 

And smoothed his yellow foam, 
35 And gently rocked the cradle 

That bore the fate of Eome. 
The ravening she-wolf knew them, 

And licked them o^er and o^er, 
And gave them of her own fierce milk, 
40 Eich with raw flesh and gore. 

Twenty winters, twenty springs, 

Since then have rolled away; 
And to-day the dead are living, 

The lost are found to-day. 

6 

45 Blithe it was to see the twins. 

Eight goodly youths and tall. 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 305 

Marching from Alba Longa 

To their old granclsire^s hall. 
Along their path fresh garlands 

Are hung from tree to tree; 
Before them stride the pipers, 

Piping a note of glee. 



On the right goes Eomulns, 

With arms to the elbows red, 
And in his hand a broadsword, 

And on the blade a head, — 
A head in an iron helmet, 

With horse-hair hanging down, 
A shaggy head, a swarthy head. 

Fixed in a ghastly frown, — 
The head of King Amnlius 

Of the great Sylvian line. 
Who reigned in Alba Ldnga, 

On the throne of Aventine. 

8 

On the left side goes Eemns, 

With wrists and fingers red, 
And in his hand a boar-spear. 

And on the point a head, — 
A wrinkled head and aged, 

AVith silver beard and hair. 
And holy fillets round it. 

Such as the pontiff's wear, — 
The head of ancient Gamers, 

Who spake the words of doom: 



306 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

75 ^"^Tlie children to the Tiber; 

The mother to the tomb/^ 

9 

Two and two behind the twins 

Their trusty comrades go, 
Fonr-and-forty valiant men, 
80 AYith clnb, and axe, and bow. 

On each side every hamlet 

Pours forth its joyous crowd. 
Shouting lads and baying dogs 

And children laughing loud, 
85 And old men weeping fondly 

As Ehea^s boys go by. 
And maids who shriek to see the heads, 

Yet, shrieking, press more nigh. 

10 

So they marched along the lake; 
90 They marched by fold and stall. 

By cornfield and by vineyard. 
Unto the old man's hall. 

11 

In the hall-gate sate Capys, 
Capys, the sightless seer; 
95 From head to foot he trembled 

As Eomulus drew near. 
And up stood stiff his thin white hair. 

And his blind eyes flashed fire : 
^^Hail ! foster-child of the wondrous nurse ! 
100 Hail ! son of the wondrous sire ! 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 307 

^^But thoii^ — what dost thou here 

In the old mari^s peaceful hall? 
What doth the eagle in the coop. 

The bison in the stall? 
Our corn fills many a garner; 

Our vines clasp many a tree; 
Our flocks are white on many a hill; 

But these are not for thee. 

13 

^Tor thee no treasure ripens 

In the Tartessian mine: 
For thee no ship brings precious bales 

Across the Libyan brine; 
Thou shalt not drink from amber; 

Thou shalt not rest on down; 
Arabia shall not steep thy locks, 

Nor Sidon tinge thy gown. 

14 

^^Leave gold and myrrh and jewels, 

Eich table and soft bed, 
To them who of man's seed are born. 

Whom woman's milk have fed. 
Thou wast not made for lucre. 

For pleasure^ nor for rest; 
Thou^ that art sprung from the War-god's loins. 

And hast tugged at the she-wolf's breast. 

15 

^Trom sunrise unto sunset 
All earth shall hear thy fame ; 



308 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

A glorious city thou shalt build. 

And name it by thy name. 
And there^, unquenched through ages, 
130 Like Vestals sacred fire^ 

Shall live the spirit of thy nurse, 
The spirit of thy sire. 

16 

^^The ox toils through the furrow. 
Obedient to the goad; 
135 The patient ass, up flinty paths, 

Plods with his weary load ; 
With whine and bound the spaniel 

His master^s whistle hears; 
And the sheep yields her patiently 
140 To the loud clashing shears. 

17 

^^But thy nurse will hear no master; 

Thy nurse will bear no load; 
And woe to them that shear her. 

And woe to them that goad! 
145 When all the pack, loud bajdng, 

Her bloody lair surrounds, 
She dies in silence, biting hard. 

Amidst the dying hounds. 

18 

"Pomona loves the orchard; 
150 And Liber loves the vine ; 

And Pales loves the straw-built shed 
Warm with the breath of kine; 



THE PROPHECY OF CAPYS 309 

And Venus loves the whispers 

Of plighted youth and maid, 
In ApriFs ivory moonlight 

Beneath the chestnut shade. 

19 

^^But thy father loves the clashing 

Of broadsword and of shield; 
He loves to drink the steam that reeks 

From the fresh battle-field. 
He smiles a smile more dreadful 

Than his own dreadful frown. 
When he sees the thick black cloud of smoke 

Go up from the conquered town. 

20 

^^And such as is the War-god, 

The author of thy line, 
And such as she who suckled thee, 

Even such be thou and thine. 
Leave to the soft Campanian 

His baths and his perfumes; 
Leave to the sordid race of Tyre 

Their dyeing-vats and looms: 
Leave to the sons of Carthage 

The rudder and the oar: 
Leave to the Greek his marble J^ymphs 

And scrolls of wordy lore. 

21 

"Thine, Eoman, is the pilum; 
Eoman, the sword is thine. 



310 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

The even trench^ the bristling mound, 
180 The legion^s ordered line; 

x4nd thine the wheels of triumph^ 

Which with their laurelled train 
Move slowly up the shouting streets 

To Jove^s eternal fame. 

23 

185 "Beneath thy yoke the Volscian 

Shall veil his lofty brow; 
Soft Capua^s curled revellers 
Before thy chairs shall bow; 
The Lucumoes of Arnus 
190 Shall quake thy rods to see; 

And the proud Samnite's heart of steel 
Shall yield to only thee. 

23 

•^The Gaul shall come against thee 
From the land of snow and night; 
195 Thou shalt give his fair-haired armies 

To the raven and the kite. 

24 

"The Greek shall come against thee, 
The conqueror of the East. 

Beside him stalks to battle 
200 The huge earth-shaking beast, 

The beast on whom the castle 
With all its guards doth stand, 

The beast who hath between his eyes 
The serpent for a hand. 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 311 

First march the bold Epirotes^ 

Wedged close with shield and spear; 

And the ranks of false Tarentnm 
Are glittering in the rear. 

25 

"^^The ranks of false Tarentnm 

Like hunted sheep shall fly; 
In vain the bold Epirotes 

Shall ronnd their standards die. 
And Apennine^s gray vultures 

Shall have a noble feast 
On the fat and the eyes 

Of the huge earth-shaking beast. 

26 

^^Hurrah ! for the good weapons 

That keep the AVar-god^s land. 
Hurrah ! for Eome^s stout pilum 

In a stout Eoman hand. 
Hurrah ! for Eome^s short broadsword, 

That through the thick array 
Of levelled spears and serried shields 

Hews deep its gory way. 

27 

^^Hurrah ! for the great triumph 

That stretches many a mile. 
Hurrah ! for the wan captives 

That pass in endless file. 
Ho ! bold Epirotes, whither 

Hath the Eed Kin^ ta'en flight? 



313 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Ho ! dogs of false Tarentum^ 
Is not the gown washed white? 

28 

^^Hnrrah ! for the great triumph 

That stretches many a mile. 
235 Hurrah ! for the rich dye of Tyre, 

And the fine web of Xile, 
The helmets gay with plumage 

Torn from the pheasant^s wings. 
The belts set thick with starry gems 
2-:o That shone on Indian kings. 

The urns of massy silver, 

The goblets rough Y\ath gold, 
The many-colored tablets bright 

With loves and v/ars of old, 
245 The stone that breathes and struggles. 

The brass that seems to speak, — 
Such cunning they who dwell on high 

Have given unto the Greek. 

29 

"Hurrah ! for Manius Curius, 
250 The bravest son of Eome, 

Thrice in utmost need sent forth, 
Thrice drawn in triumph home. 
Weave, weave for Manius Curius 
The third embroidered gown : 
255 Make ready the third lofty car. 

And twine the third green crown; 
And yoke the steeds of Eosea 
With necks like a bended bow, 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS 313 

And deck the buU^ Mevania's biill^ 
The bull as white as snow. 

30 

^^Blest and thrice blest the Eoman 

Who sees Eome^s brightest day, 
Y\lio sees that long victorious pomp 

AVind down the Sacred AVav, 
And through the bellowing Forum 

And round the Suppliant's Grove, 
Up to the everlasting gates 

Of Capitolian Jove. - 

31 

"^'Then where, o^er two bright havens, 

The towers of Corinth frown; 
Where the gigantic King of Day 

On his own Ehodes looks down; 
WTiere soft Orontes murmurs 

Beneath the laurel shades; 
Where Xile reflects the endless length 

Of dark-red colonnades; 
Where in the still deep water. 

Sheltered from waves and blasts. 
Bristle the dusky forests 

Of Byrsa's thousand masts ; 
Where fur-clad hunters wander 

Amidst the northern ice; 
A\Tiere through the sand of morning-land 

The camel bears the spice ; 
AAliere Atlas flings his shadow 

Far o^er the western foam, — 



314 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Shall be great fear on all who hear 
The mighty name of Eome/^ 

LAYS OF ANCIENT EOME. 

NOTES. 

LOCALITIES: 

In the sixth century B. C, the Etrurians occupied Northern 
Italy, and extended on the west, with the Tiber for their general 
boundary, almost to the gates of Rome. On the eastern or Adriatic 
side, came the people of Latin blood, speaking the dialects of Cen- 
tral Italy : the Latini, the Umbri, the Sabini, the Volsci, etc. South 
of the Tiber, these people covered the peninsula. There v/ere 
Pelagian and Greek colonies in the South, and small Phoenician 
colonies in Sardinia and Sicily. 

One of the most effective things in the Lays is the sonorous use 
of proper names. These serve two purposes ; first, their mere sound 
is so skillfully interwoven that it adds resonance and helps the 
swing of the measure ; second, they add to the vividness of the 
scene by a rich and romantic suggestion of local color. To the 
reader with intimate knowledge of Italy, these names have in them- 
selves a rare charm of association. But the younger reader does 
not gain much by stopping in his reading to learn that a little town 
is in Northern Latium or Southern Etruria. The editor has there- 
fore simply gathered the names together in the Geographical Index 
that follows, which can be consulted at will and has referred to this 
Index from time to time in the Notes. Additional study of a classical 
Atlas is recommended to students curious concerning geography. 

Most of the places in Horatiiis lie to the North of Rome, in 
Etruria, whence the troops march on the city. In The Battle of the 
Lake Regillus, the troops march from Latium, the province to the 
South ; but the coming of the Great White Brethren is accom- 
panied by many Greek names. Tirginia has no geographical allu- 
sions. In TJie Prophecy of Capys, the scene is laid near Alba 
Longa, the mother-city of Rome ; but other localities are mentioned 
in the prophecy of the extending triumphs of the city. 

GEOGRAPHICAL INDEX. 

LOCALITIES IN ETRURIA ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED: 

Arnus: A river in Northern Alvernus: A mountain on the 
Etruria : the modern Arno. border of Umbria. Later 

on which Florence is situated. known as Mt. Alverna ; on 



NOTES ON MACAULAY'S POEMS 



315 



this mountain St. Francis was 
stigmatized. 

A user: A muddy little river. 

Arrerium: A town : modern 
Arezzo. 

Ciminian: Mount Ciminus. 

Clanis: A river. 

Clitiimnus: A river with beau- 
tiful clear springs still vis- 
ited. See ChiJde Harold, Can- 
to IV, 1-. 586. 

Clausiurn: A town; modern 
Chiusi. 

Cortona: A town, in a lofty 
situation, which still keeps the 
same name. 

Cosa: A town on the sea-coast.' 

Falerii: A town. 

Ferentinum: A town. 

Luna: A town in the very North 

LOCALITIES 
Alha Longa: The town among 

the hills to the South of Rome 

from which, according to 

legend, the city was settled. 
Algidiis: A mountain. 
Anio: A river flowing into the 

Tiber. 
Anxur: A town. 
Ardea: A town. 
Arpinum: A town. 
Aricia: A town among the hills. 

See note to Cliilde Harold, 

Canto IV, 1. 1549. 
Camerium: A town. 
Cora: A town. 
Criistumeiium: A town. 
Fidenae: A town ; modern Castel 

Guibileo, on the Tiber. 
Gahei: A town. 
Janiculum: One of the Seven 

Hills of Rome. 
Laureniian: An adjective from 

Laurentum, a town on the 

sea-coast. 
Laiinium: On the coast; see the 

Aeneid. 



of Etruria, between Pisa and 

Genoa. 
A'ar; A river that flows into the 

Tiber. 
Pisae: Modern Pisa. 
Popiilonia: A town on a little 

peninsula. 
Soracte: A mountain ; see Cliilde 

Harold, Canto IV, 1. 665. 
Siitrium: A town. 
Tifenium: A town on the North- 
ern Tiber. 
Thrasijmene: A lake. See Cliilde 

Harold, Canto IV, 1. 551. 
Umhro: A little river flowing 

into the Mediterranean. 
Volaterrae: Modern Volterra. 
Tolsinian mere: A lake. 
Tolsinium: A town. 

IX LATIUM: 

y omentum: A town. 

2\orha: A town. 

Ostia: The sea-port of Rome, 
still bearing the same nam^e. 

Palatinus: One of the Seven 
Hills of Rome, on which later 
the Palace of the Caesars was 
built. See Cliilde Harold, 
Canto IV, 1. 951. 

Pedum: A town. 

Pomptine fog: The miasma from 
the Pontine Marshes, which 
extended over the lowlands of 
Latium. 

Regilliis: The small lake by 
which the battle was fought 
between the Romans and the 
Latins. 

Setia: A town. 

Tilmr: An important town ; mod- 
ern Tivoli. 

Tusculum: A town very near 
Rome. 

Ufens: A river. 

Yelitrae: A town. 



316 



SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 



The Velian Hill: Another of the named 

Seven Hills of Rome. - ceress. 

Witch's Fortress: A promontory, 



from Circe the Sor- 



OTHER LOCALITIES: 



Adria: The Adriatic Sea. 
Apulian: Apulia was a district 

in Southern Italy. 
Atlas: A mountain in Africa. 
Auficlus: A river in Apulia. 
Bandusia: A fountain in Apulia 

near the birth-place of Horace. 
Byrsa: The citadel of Carthage. 
Calahrian: Calabria is still a dis- 
trict in Southern Italy. 
Campania: A province south of 

Latium. 
Capua: A city in Campania 

notorious for its luxury. 
Carthage: A famous city in 

Africa, long the chief rival of 

Rome. 
Cirrha: A city in Greece. 
Corinth: One of the chief cities 

in Greece. 
Cyrene: A mountain in Africa. 
Digentian: Digentia was a 

stream in Sabini. 
Eurotas: The river in Greece on 

which Lacedsemon or Sparta 

was built. 
Ilva: The modern island of Elba, 

where Napoleon was exiled. 
Lacedwmon: The most important 

city in Greece, next to Athens. 



Lihyan: Libya was in Africa. 

Massilia: The modern Marseilles, 
in France. 

Mevania: A town in Umbria. 

Orontes: A river in Syria. 

Partheiiius: A mountain in 
Greece. 

Po: One of the larger Italian 
rivers. 

Rhodes: An island in the ^gean 
Sea sacred to Apollo. 

Samothracia: An island in the 
Grecian seas. 

Sardinia: An island off the coast 
of Italy. 

Sidon: An ancient city in Phoe- 
nicia, mentioned in the Scrip- 
tures. 

Syracuse: A city in Sicily. 

Tarentuni: A Greek town in 
Calabria. 

Tartessian: Tartessus was in 
Spain. 

Thunder-Cape: A promontory in 
Greece opposite Calabria. 

Tyre: A famous city in Phoe- 
nicia, usually coupled with 
Sidon. 

Urgo: A little island off the 
coast of Etruria. 



HORATIUS. 

The story is told in Livy, Book II, 10. 

1. Lars Porsena: Lars was the old Etruscan word for Lord, or 
Chieftain. It was an hereditary title. 

3. House of Tarquin: The dynasty of Tarquin. As we say, the 
House of Hapsburg. 

6. Trysting day: This medieval word is in keeping with the 
frankly romantic tone of the Lays. Macaulay freely uses terms 
from the old English ballads. 



NOTES ON MACAULAY'S POEMS 317 

36. Triremes: Vessels propelled by three banks of oars. Famil- 
iar in classic times. 

37. Fair-haired slaves: Slaves from Northern countries, whose 
fair hair was always an amazement to the Romans. 

39. Through corn, etc. In Italy the fields of grain and the vine- 
yards are often gay with flowers, like the bright rosy wild gladiolus, 
and our Love in a Mist, and red tulips. 

40. Cortona: For this and preceding proper names in this 
stanza, see Geographical Index. 

63. Must: The new wine, trodden from the grapes. Wine is 
still made in this way in Italy. 

72. Traced from the right: Etruscan writing, derived from the 
Phoenicians, was written in this way, still practised in some parts 
of the Orient. The Etruscan religion placed great stress on omens 
of various kinds. 

79. Royal dome: The word dome here stands for any impressive 
building. Cf. Latin domus, house. Compare Coleridge's Kuhla 
Khan: 

In Xanada did Kubla Khan 
A stately pleasure-dome decree. 

80. Nurscia: Probably the goddess of good-fortune. 

81. In the early days of Rome there was found in the court- 
yard of the king's palace a golden shield, which the priests de- 
clared had fallen from heaven ; and while it remained safe, they 
said, Rome could not be conquered. To protect it from theft, eleven 
other shields exactly like it were made, and twelve priests ap- 
pointed to guard the twelve shields. 

83. Tale: Compare our modern w^ord "tally." "Tale" in this 
sense means the number counted. Cf. Milton's L' Allegro: 

And every shepherd tells his tale. 

96. Mamilius was Tarquin's son-in-law. His home, Tusculum, 
is famous in later Roman annals from the distinguished Romans, 
Cicero in particular, who had villas there. 

100. Champaign: Latin campum. Compare French "Champ" 
and modern Italian "Campagna," by which name the level country 
around Rome still goes. 

113. Note how admirably the impression of breathless haste is 
increased by the absence of any pause except a comma at the end 
of this line. These three stanzas are memorable for the vivid use 
of concrete detail in which Macaulay excels. 

115. Skins of icine: The Cossacks and other Orientals still carry 
liquids in bottles made of skins sewed firmly together. 

121, Roaring: What is the force of this word? 

122. The Tarpeian rock overhung the Tiber. Tarpeia was a 



318 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Roman girl who agreed to throw open the doors of the citadel to 
the Sabines, if they would give her "what they wore on their left 
arms." She meant their gold bracelets ; but they threw their 
heavy shields upon her, as she stood waiting for her reward, and 
she was crushed to death. 

123. Burghers: This word suits the mediaeval style of the Lays^ 
and also brings the life of ancient Rome closely home to us. 

126. The Fathers of the City: The Senators. Our half -jesting 
phrase, "The City Fathers," goes back to Roman associations. 

130. Reference to a map will make more vivid the way in 
which the foes close in upon the city, till one of the sacred seven 
hills is stormed by them. 

138. I wis: An archaic word meaning "certainly." Macaulay prob- 
ably mistook the "I" for the personal pronoun, but it is really a 
prefix. 

144. Girded up their goions: They must be pictured clad in the 
long flowing Roman toga. 

151. The Sublician bridge (sMZ)Zicae=props), a wooden structure 
connecting Janiculum with Rome ; 250 years old at the time of 
Horatius. Its site is not known exactly. 

162. And nearer: Has Macaulay previously varied the length 
of his usual eight-line stanza? Where? Why? What does he 
gain by changing here to a stanza of twelve lines? What is the 
rhyme-scheme? What use of color is there? What of sound? By 
what stages is the "swarthy storm of dust" gradually recognized 
as a glittering army? When does the army get near enough for 
individuals to be known ? 

184. Po7^t and vest: "Port" is carriage, bearing. Cf. our "deport- 
ment." "Vest" is from the Latin vestis. Cf. "vestment." 

185. Lucumo: The name given by Latin writers to the Etruscan 
chiefs. 

188. Four-fold shield: Four thicknesses of hide and various 
metals. See Regillus, 276. 

217. Brave Horatius: He was called Codes, the one-eyed. He 
came of a patrician family, the Luceres. Livy says that he "hap- 
pened to be on guard at the bridge." Compare his simple and 
noble speech wirh that of Beowulf, the Anglo-Saxon hero, when he 
plunges into the depths of the sea to fight a sea-monster : or with 
the speech of other epic heroes at decisive moments. 

223, 224. Reverence for ancestors and for the gods were close 
together in Roman minds. The Romans usually burned their dead, 
though burial was not unknown. 

229, 230. These maidens were the six Vestal Virgins, girls who, 
vowing never to marry, devoted themselves to the service of Vesta, 
goddess of the hearth. They kept a fire burning, night and day, 
upon Vesta's shrine. The Romans held them in high honor. 

235. / with two more: In Livy, Horatius offers to hold the 
bridge alone, but the others beg permission to join him. 



NOTES ON MAC ATIL AY'S POEMS 319 

237. Yon strait path: Cf. llattheiu YII, 13 : "Enter ye in at 
the strait gate." Xot the same word as "straight." 

241, etc. : Spurius Lartius and Titus Herminius are both men- 
tioned in Livy. 

242. The Luceres. (see note, I. 217), the Ramnes, and the Tities 
were the three floman tribes. The Ramnes were said to be direct 
descendants of Romulus, founder of R,ome ; hence they were called 
proud. 

253. For Romans in Rome-s quarrel: Who is speaking here? 
What is the force of the interpolation? 

261. Lands icere fairly portioned: Land conquered by the city 
was supposedly held for the common benefit of the citizens. 

267. The tribunes: The official representatives of the tribes of 
the common people, or Plebs, of Rome. The Fathers (patres) were 
the representatives of the nobles, the Patricians. 

269. As ice wax hot: Two often quoted and powerful lines. 

274. Harness: Armor, trappings of war. Cf. Macheth, Y. 5, 52 : 

At least we'll die with harness on our back. 

277. Commons: Macaulay again suggests the modern parallel 
to old Roman days by using the English parliamentary term. 

304. Ilva^s mines: The iron mines of Elba are still worked. 

310. The pale leaves of Nar: The waters of the river Nar were 
impregnated with sulphur, which gave them a whitish tinge. 
Notice how intimate Macaulay is with the rivers of Italy. Auser 
is really "dark" with a sort of black mud : Clitumnus flows silvery 
pure : Tiber, at Rome, is tawny "yellow," though nearer its source 
it is blue-green. 

323. Ariins: The Etruscan title for a younger son. 

324. The great wild 'boar: Macaulay alters the real legend, ac- 
cording to which this boar was so terrible that finally the gods, in 
answer to prayer, destroyed him by lightning. 

333. Fell pirate: Apparently Macaulay invented him. He is 
given fitting home in the small island of Urgo. But if there never 
was a Lausulus, the Etruscans were nevertheless often pirates as 
well as merchants. 

337. Hinds: Country-people, peasants. 

346. And for a space no man came forth: In Livy, the Etruscans 
throw their spears from all sides against the solitary enemy. He 
challenges them singly, but they hesitate and for a time no one 
comes to meet him. 

350. Luna: See Geographical Index. 

366. The she-wolfs litter: See The Prophecy of Capys ; also 
notes to Childe Harold, Canto lY, line 789. 

354. And in his hand he shakes the brand: Can you find other 
examples of internal rhyme in the poem? 

384. Mount Alvernus: See Geographical Index, page 314. 



320 SHORTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

388, The pale augurs: Soothsayers, or priests who interpreted 
the will of the Gods by reading the flight of birds, the entrails of 
sacrificed beasts, etc. 

412-415. These four lines all run on one rhyme. 

492. Tiher! father Tiber: The Tiber was represented in 
Roman sculpture of a later date as an old river-god reclining, sur- 
rounded by children who represented his tributaries. 

In Livy, this prayer reads as follows : ''Father Tiber, I pray 
thee, Holy One, receive these arms and this thy soldier in thy 
propitious waters." Do you prefer this version or Macaulay'sV 
Would Horatius have explained, at that moment, that the Romans 
pray to the Tiber, or would he have taken it for granted? 

525. Bore bravely up his chin: Macaulay cites, in connection 
with this line, the following passages : 

Our ladye bare upp her chinne. 

— Ballad of Childe Waters. 

Never heavier man and horse 

Stemmed a midnight torrent's force ; 

Yet through good heart and Our Lady's grace, 

At last he gained the landing-place. 

Scott : Lay of the Last Minstrel, 

545. Could ploic may mean could plow a furrow round; which 
would be a good deal. Most even of the rich Romans owned little 
real estate ; nearly all their property was personal. 

548, 549. What day ? And who is speaking ? 

550. The Forum was the Roman place of public assembly. In 
the middle was the Rostra, from which all speakers addressed the 
people. The patricians gathered on one side, in the Comitium, the 
plebeians on the other, in the Forum proper. 

558, 559. The story is now finished. Why does Macaulay add 
these stanzas? Does he show good judgment? 

561. The Romans were at war with their neighbors, the Volsci, 
at the time this ballad is supposed to have been written. 

562. The goddess of motherhood. 



THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE EEGILLUS. 

The battle chronicled in the poem took place some years after the 
expedition of Porsena. Tarquin, still conspiring against Rome, had 
now appealed to the League of the Thirty Latin Cities. His son- 
in-law, Mamilius, nominally head of this League, turned the Thirty 
Cities against Rome. But this final effort of Tarquin, as the 



NOTES ON MACAULAY'S POEMS 33I 

ballad narrates, failed completely. Just where Lake Regillus lay 
is in doubt. Macaulay inclines to favor the idea that it was be- 
tween Frascati and Monte Porzio (the "Porcian Height" of 11. 34, 
148), about fifteen to twenty miles to the north of Rome. 

The story is told in Livy, Book II, chapters 19, 20. 

Title: Castor and Pollux were the twin brothers of Helen, wife 
of Menelaus, King of Sparta, the woman whose fatal beauty was 
the cause of the Trojan War. The remains of their Temple in 
the Roman Forum can still be seen. 

2. Lictors: The bodyguard of the magistrates. Twelve attended 
each consul. The insignia of office were the fasces, a bundle of 
rods surrounding an axe. 

3. Knights: The "Equites," an order that ranked below the 
Senate and above the plebeians. They were a kind of honorary 
cavalry, recruited from among the rich young men. The use of 
the word is characteristic of Macaulay's intention to quicken in us 
the same romantic feeling toward ancient Rome which we have 
toward the middle ages. It would be interesting to go through 
the Lays, noting how cleverly mediaeval words are used as a parallel 
to Latin expressions. 

7, 8. Castor . . . Mars: The two temples between which the 
procession passed. 

14. The Sacred Hill: A small hill outside the city. The common 
people, in one famous struggle against the patricians, 494 B. C, 
withdrew in a body to this hill and waited there till the Tribunes 
they wanted were granted to them. 

15-20. "The Ides of Quintilis fell on the fifteenth of July. The 
months were counted, and July was the fifth month, hence its 
name (Quintilis). In the Roman calendar, the first day of each 
month was named the 'Calends,' from the verb meaning to 'call' 
The next division was Nones, which, as the ninth day before the 
Ides, fell on different dates in different months. The Ides, a word 
of uncertain derivation, fell on the fifteenth in March, May, July, 
and October, on the thirteenth in other months." 

17. The Martian Kalends: The first of March was the great 
yearly holiday of Roman women. 

18. Decemher's Nones: The fifth of December was a day devoted 
to wild festivities in honour of the god of the woods, Faunus. 

20. Rome's ichitest day: See line 156. White was lucky, black 
unlucky. The Latin word Candidatus, our "Candidate," meant 
one dressed in white for good luck. In the Te Deum. the Latin 
adjective for our "Noble army of martyrs" is Candidatus. 

25-32. Follow their course on a map. They pass from their 
Eastern birth-place over mountains, cities, and seas. Their ancient 
mansion is their temple in Lacedsemon or Sparta, the home of 
Menelaus and Helen. Sparta was in ancient days governed by two 
kings at once. 

36-50. In these martial poems, Macaulay loves to pause now 



322 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

and then, as in the conclusion of Horatiiis, to give us idjllic and 
pastoral pictures. The contrast helps us to realize the primitive 
simplicity of life in ancient Italy. 

60. Note how well Macaulay in this stanza leads up to the 
beginning of his narrative. 

69. A hoof-mark: See Introduction. Every country has its 
mysterious foot-prints around which legends gather. In this poem, 
we are not in the region of plain human story as in Horatius, 
but in the solemn region of myth and religious faith. Our imagi- 
nations must be kindled with awe. The old Romans had a strong 
sense for the sanctity of localities. The word "holy" a few lines 
above is deliberately meant. 

77. Since last: The listeners to the Lay are Romans who are 
still living under the same general conditions as those the poem 
implies. But even they have to have some information. Macaulay 
has shown much dramatic imagination in the way in which he 
puts himself at their precise point of view. 

82. Consul first in place: First to have been elected: he had, 
however, no superior rights. 

89. The Herald of the Latines: Note the stately effect produced 
by the repetition. 

119. Conscript Fathers: The members of the Patrician order 
whose names were written, "conscripti," in the Senate Roll. 

123. A Dictator: Roman history records many an occasion when 
such a temporary head of the State was chosen. 

125. Camerium: A Latin city which Aulus had almost anni- 
hilated. 

132. Axes twenty-four: All the Lictors were now to belong to 
him. 

163. Foredoomed to dogs and vultures: Notice that Macaulay 
in this Lay foregoes appeal to suspense. It is an avowed song 
of triumph. Wherein does the excitement then consist? 

173. Compare note on Childe Harold, Canto IV, 1549. Aricia 
had a temple dedicated to Diana, where the priest was always to be 
a run-away slave who gained the office only by killing his predeces- 
sor. Naturally the priest temporarily in charge always went armed. 

195. Upon his head a helmet: Mamilius is in Livy "conspicuous 
for his armor." 

201-204. Why does the metre change? Purple cloth was a 
famous product of Tyre on the coast of Syria. 

209. False Sextus: See Horatius, 11. 199-200, and note. 

217. A icoman fair and stately: Lucretia. 

237. The Volscian succors: Allies from the Volscian Hills. 

239. The Roman exiles: The nobles who had been exiles with 
Tarquin. The singer is a Roman and presents them with sympathy 
though disapproval. 

241. Mount Soracte: See Childe Harold, Canto IV, 1. 665, and 
note. 



NOTES ON MACAULAY^S POEMS 323 

251. Titus the youngest Tarquln: Really the oldest. 

254. Gave signal for the charge: Livy says : "For the leaders 
were in the battle not merely to guide it by their strategy, but 
mixed in the fray themselves . . . and almost none of the 
chiefs came out of either army without a wound except the Roman 
Dictator." From this hint, Macaulay has elaborated the spirited 
series of single combats in which he imitated Homer. 

263. The Pomptine fog: See Geographical Index, p. 315. 

277. As glares the famished eagle: Note that Macaulay in- 
troduces these figures of speech much more often here than in 
other parts of the Lays. One reason probably is to afford relief 
from the fighting ; another to follow the epic manner of Homer, 
whose formal similes are famous. 

283. Black Auster: This sympathetic steed is named from the 
Southwest wind, which is a black wind, in Italy. Herminius is of 
course older than in Horatius. 

c08. Among his elms: Grape-vines are still frequently trained 
upon trees in Italy. 

809. Mamilius: See note on 195. 

323. A thick wall of bucklers: Bucklers are shields. In classic 
days they were often several feet long, and could well form a wall 
if placed upright edge to edge. 

325. His clients: Clients in old Roman days were the depend- 
ents of a noble house. The term is frequently found. See Vir- 
ginia, 20. 

332. Compare the famous story of General Wolfe, who drove 
the French from Canada. Near the close of the battle of Quebec, 
while he lay mortally wounded, some one cried in his hearing : 
"They run! They run I" "Who run?" demanded Wolfe: and the 
answer was, "The French !" "Then," answered the general, "I 
can die happy." 

333. But ineanivhile in the centre: Note the crescendo : Tarquin 
and the dictator are now to engage in single combat. 

Compare this battle with classic battles in Homer, and with 
battles described by some of those mediaeval minstrels whom 
Macaulay was imitating : for instance, that in the old French 
Chanson de Geste, The Song of Roland. See translation by O'Hagan 
or by Isabel Butler. 

360. Rome's great Julian line: The Julian House of Rome traced 
its ancestry to lulus, the grandson of the hero of the iEneid. 

375, 376. The first Valerius was called Publicola, the People's 
Friend. 

383. Yeomen: Another strong old English word, which, how- 
ever, has not so close a parallel in Latin as most of the words 
Macaulay uses. 

401. Macaulay alternates single combats with general pictures. 
Note the appeal to eye and ear. 

414. Purple foam: "Purple" is Macaulay's favorite color-word. 



334 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

He works it hard in the Lays and usually to good effect. Do you 
think it is better here than "bloody" would have beea? 

415, 416. A stirring climax. We can imagine how fast and 
loud the minstrel is now singing. The patriotic passion of his 
hearers is at its height. Valerius had once been Consul. 

431. Mamilius' armor was described in detail when first he was 
introduced. Now we see one reason why : he Is identified by it 
from afar. 

513. The battle is so far an even thing. At this point, Mac- 
aulay, with high art, pauses, and through the wild ride of the 
charger of Herminius and the touching sorrow of Black Auster, 
gives us relief. This stanza and the next prepare us for the com- 
ing of the Gods. 

The metre in the twenty-ninth stanza should be carefully studied. 
IS'ote especially how the anapaests in the lines 523, 527, 
531, suggest the gallop, and the spondees of the monosyllabic line 
539 the restrained sorrow and resolution of the old men. 

Compare The Ride of Paul Revere, and Browning's Through the 
Metidja, and How They Brought the Good Neivs from Ghent to 
Aix. 

557. The furies of thy brother: The Furies were in Greek 
mythology three dreadful sisters who took vengeance on murderers. 
*'Thy brother" is of course the false Sextus. 

568. Rich Capuan's hall: A hundred years after the singing of 
this Lay^ the soldiers of Hannibal were subjugated by the seductive 
luxury of Capua. Compare The Prophecy of Capys, line 187. 

581. The Romans must not be represented as discouraged. 
Aulus is going right on with the fight. But it is time for the gods 
to come. 

583. The "princely pair" suddenly appear, no one knows whence, 
in the central heat of the battle. One catches the thrill with 
which these lines would be received by a Roman audience. 

588. Their steeds icere white as snow: The emphasis on Black 
Auster and on the grey horse of Herminius has been directly 
meant to lead up to our joy in these more strange and beautiful 
creatures. 

603. Samothracia, etc.: Macaulay suggests the wide extent of 
the worship of Castor and Pollux by thus mentioning places in 
Greece, Africa, Southern Italy, and Sicily. 

605. Tarentum: For the proper names in this stanza, see Geo- 
graphical Index, p. 316. The house of the gods is a Temple. 
614. Couched lotv: Leveled. 

623. The hearth of Vesta: Horatius too, it will be remembered, 
was nerved to his feat by desire to protect the Vestal Virgins. 

649. Our Sire Quirinus: Romulus after death was worshiped as 
Quirinus the Spear-god. 

687-88. The hattle Went roaring through the pass: After the 
detail of the hand to hand fighting, the general term "the battle" 



NOTES ON MACAULAY'S POEMS 325 

is just the summary we want, and the vision cf the conflict sweep- 
ing farther and farther away and seen only in the mass, could not 
be better given. 

689, etc. We turn to anxious and expectant Rome in a transi- 
tion as effective as it Is abrupt. 

695. The Tivelve were the twelve patrician guardians of the 
Golden Shield and its eleven copies. 

697. The High Pontiff: The Pontiff Maximus, the head of the 
priestly order of Rome : a most important personage. 

699. Etruria's colleges: The College in this sense was an as- 
semblage of men devoted to the study of religious ceremonies. 

721. Hail to the great Asylum: According to the legend, Romu- 
lus had, when he founded Rome set apart a certain section of 
the city for a refuge to fugitives. 

Note the stateliness of this greeting. 

723. The fire that hums for aye: The never-dying flame tended 
by the Vestals. 

760. The Dorians: The Greeks of the province in which Lace- 
dsemon, the home of the Great Brethren, is situated. 

768. Sit shining on the sails: Castor and Pollux are known in 
astronomy as one of the signs of the Zodiac, the constellation 
Gemini. As such they are invoked as the guides to mariners. 
Others interpret this line as referring to electric or phosphor- 
escent phenomena. 

773. Here hard hy Vesta's Temple: Three columns of the Tem- 
ple of Castor and Pollux, still standing, are among the most 
impressive ruins in the Roman Forum. These columns, however, 
belong to a later date than the supposed date of our Lay. They 
probably belong to a restoration of the Temple in the time of 
Trajan or Hadrian. They are of Parian marble with fine Cor- 
inthian capitals. The temple had eight columns in front and 
probably thirteen on each side. *'Dome" is used again in the 
sense of "House" or "Temple." 

793. And pass in solemn order: It is effective that the pro- 
cession should end, as it began, the poem. 

VIEGINIA. 

Horatius and Tlie Battle of the Lake RegiUus celebrate the 
exploits of warriors, who, like all men of military prominence 
am^ong the old Romans, belonged to the Patrician class. In Vir- 
ginia we have, as Macaulay points out in his Introduction, an 
attack upon the Patricians. The Licinian Laws, his imaginary 
occasion of the ballad, were three laws introduced by Caius- 
Licinius, the Tribune or representative of the people. The first 
proposed to give the Plebs a share in the distribution of the 
public lands, the second to make them eligible to high office, and 



326 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

the third to free them from the terrible ''debtor's law" of the time. 
The story is found in Livy, Bk. Ill, 44-49. Maoaulay follows 
Livy very closely. 

5. Of fountains running icine: Various Grecian legends, prin- 
cipally of Bacchus the Wine-God, include this idea. 

6. See the legend of Perseus and the Gorgons, and the story of 
Circe, in the Odyssey. 

10. The icicked Ten: The Decemvirs w^ere Patricians who had 
been appointed to draw up laws satisfactory to both parties and 
to perform the duties of magistrates for one year. They did well 
at first, but in their second year they used their power tyran- 
nically and became hated by the people. 

14. Twelve axes: Lictors. See note on Regillus, 1, 2. 

20. The client: The client was expected in return for protec- 
tion to carry out the orders of his patron. The relation was 
hereditary. 

23. Buch varlets, etc.: This passage is quite in dramatic char- 
acter. It expresses the bitterness of feeling and the prejudice of 
plebeian Rome. 

24. Licinius. The newly re-elected Tribune. See Title and 
Introduction. 

31. With her small tahlets in her hand: These tablets were 
thin pieces of wood covered on one side with wax, on which the 
pupil wa-ote with an iron pencil called a stylus. They were the 
slates of the time. 

The picture of the little Virginia is in a different tone from 
anything else in the Lays, except the few lines about "The young 
Herminia" in The Battle of the Lake Regillus. 

35. The Sacred Street: The Via Sacra, leading to the Forum. 

36. Lines of the good old song: The story is that the sons of 
Tarquin and their cousin, the husband of Lucrece, made a wager 
as to which possessed the most dutiful wife. They rode home at 
midnight to settle it. The wives of the king's sons were at a 
banquet, but Lucrece was found spinning among her maidens. 

47. The Forum all alive: We have not before in the Lays been 
allowed to see Rome at peace. This homely, cheerful picture is 
a good contrast to the tragedy to fellow. 

50. Panniers: Baskets usually slung at the side of a saddle. 
Originally meant to hold bread, as suggested by the derivation 
from the Latin panis. 

55. With stalls in alleys gay: Very small open shops : there 
are many in Italian cities today. 

64. Punic icarcs: Carthaginian. Hanno is a Carthaginian 
name. People then talked of Punic wares as we today talk of 
wares from Paris. 

66. Flesher: Butcher. These were all well-known professions 
among the Romans. 

74. The year of the sore sickness: The plague, which devas- 



NOTES ON MACAtLAY^S POEMS 327 

tated Rome, in 463 B. C. September is the most unhealthy month 
there. 

76. Tico augurs: See Note on Horatius, 388. 

81. Xo Tribune: Note how repeatedly the purpose of the poem 
is Indicated. 

83. Honest Sextius: Fellow-Tribune with Licinius. 

86. Murcena's skirt: The dress of the laboring men was not the 
toga, but a short garment something like a Scotch kilt. 

87. The young Icilius: Betrothed to Virginia. 

89. TJiat column: Three Roman brothers, the Horatii (unre- 
lated to the hero of Macaulay's Lay) fought three brothers of 
Alba, the Curatii, to settle a dispute between Alba and Rome. All 
the Curatii and two of the Horatii were killed : the surviving 
brother brought back in triumph the armor of his enemies and 
hung it on this column in the Forum. 

92. The burning words: Macaulay loved political oratory. Com- 
pare this speech of Icilius with Mark Antony's speech over the 
body of Caesar. 

94. Quirites: Roman citizens: The word is said to be derived 
from Cures, a Sabine town, whose inhabitants were called Quirites. 
"After the Sabines and the Romans had united themselves into 
one community, under Romulus, the name of Quirites was taken 
in addition to that of Romani, the people calling themselves in a 
civil capacity Quirites, while in a political and military capacity 
they retained the name of Romans.'" — Andrews. 

95. Servius: Servius Tullius, sixth king of Rome, a wise law- 
giver, supposedly of divine origin, who gave the city her military 
constitution. 

97. Those false sons: One of the best-known stories in Roman 
legendary history is that of Brutus, an early consul, v/ho, having 
discovered his two sons to be involved in a conspiracy to restore 
Tarquin, ordered them to be beheaded. 

98. Sew tola means left-handed. Caius Mucins, a young Roman 
noble, gained this surname through an exploit at the time when 
Porsena of Clusium was besieging Rome. He went into the Etrus- 
can camp in an attempt to kill the king, but was discovered. 
Brought before Porsena and questioned, he thrust his right hand 
into the flame of a torch and held it there quietly, to show how 
little he cared for torture ; then he informed Porsena that there 
were in Rome hundreds more young men as brave as he. The 
Etruscan was so impressed that he at once proposed peace on 
terms favorable to Rome. 

102. See Regillus, 1. 14, note. 

104. Marcian fury: Caius Marcius, nicknamed Coriolanus, from 
Corioli, one of the towns he conquered, was banished from Rome, 
and in revenge led the Yolscians against the city. On the point of 
victory he was checked by the tears and prayers of his mother and 
his wife, who had been sent to him to intercede for the city. See 



328 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

FegilluSj 1. 356, note. TJie Fahian pride refers to the action of 
the troops of Caeso Fabius when they refused to storm the camp 
of the enemy, and so, by leaving the victory incomplete, deprived 
the general of his triumph. 

105. TJie fiercest Quinctiiis: A son of the great Cincinnatus, 
banished for his opposition to the Plebs. 

106. The haugJitiest Claudius: Grandfather of the Claudius of 
this poem. 

111. No crier to the pollings: The Romans were summoned to 
the elections by word of mouth and by the sound of a trumpet. 

115. The holy fillets: The fillets were the insignia of the priest- 
hood and only Patricians might be priests. They were small bands 
worn on the hair. The purple gown was worn by consuls and 
equites on public occasions. 

116. The curule chair was the chair of state. It was inlaid 
with ivory and had neither arms nor back. In curule chairs sat 
The Fathers at the Eastern Gate in the Battle of the Lake Regilliis, 
stanza 37, waiting for news of the battle. In these chairs the 
Gauls found the City Fathers sitting when they raided the city 
in 390 B. C. 

The Car is the chariot used in triumphal processions : the laurel 
croicn the wreath worn in such triumphs by the victor. 

117. Press us for your cohorts: Impress. 
120. Usance: Usury. 

122. Your dens of torment: The debtors' prisons in Rome were 
notorious for horrors. 

124. Holes: Stocks. Wooden frames in which the feet were 
held. 

130. Ascanius, son of iEneas, is said to have founded Alba 
Longa three hundred years before Romulus laid the walls of Rome. 
See The Prophecy of Capys. 

133. Corinthian mirrors: Corinth, like Capua, was famous for 
Its luxury. It produced fine bronze ; mirrors in classic times were 
made of polished metal. 

144. The asterisks throughout this poem are Macaulay's own. 
See his Introduction for the portion of the story which he has 
here omitted. He calls his verses the fragments of a lay. 

146. The Roman butchering was done in the open street. 

148. The great sewer: The Cloaca Maxima. 

149. Whittle: Butcher's knife. 

153. Why does he use the past tense? 

157. My civic crown: A crown of oak leaves was granted to 
any soldier who saved the life of a Roman freeman in battle by 
killing his opponent. 

162. His urn: In which the ashes were kept after his dead 
body had been burned. 

193. O dwellers in the nether gloom: An invocation of the gods 
of the lower world, especially the Furies. 



NOTES OX MACAULAY'S POEMS 329 

213. Cypress crown: The cypi'ess is the tree of churchyards, 
especially in Italy. 

217. Crafts: Occupations: as in our phrase "Arts and Crafts." 

221, 222. Scan these lines. 

228. The Pincian Hill: One of the Seven Hills, then on the 
outskirts of the town. 

242. Tribunes! Hurrah for Trihunes ! The occasion of the 
ballad is to describe this popular rising. 

246. Macaulay says of this family in his Introduction : "In war 
they were not distinguished by skill or valor. One of them had 
been entrusted with an army and had failed ignominiously. None 
of them had been honored with a Triumph. None of them had 
achieved any martial exploit." 

249. Caius of CorioU: Shakespeare's Coriolanus. who took his 
name from the town he had conquered. See note, line 104. 

251. The yoke of Furiiis: Marcus Furius Camillus drove the 
Gauls from Rome after they had captured it in 390 B. C. See 
The Prophecy of Capys, 193-196, note. 

257. A Cossus: Surname of a house belonging to the gens Cor- 
nelia. See Lake RegilJiis. stanza 23. 

277. Sea-marks: Light-houses. 

278. The great Thunder Cape: See Geographical Index, p. 316. 
It was a promontory in Greece, opposite Brindisi, of a volcanic 
nature. 

286. The ridicule and unrestrained abuse heaped upon Appius 
give a truly popular quality to this Lay, quite different from the 
dignity of all the others. 



THE PEOPHECY OF CAPYS. 

In order fully to enjoy this Lay it is necessary to bear in mind 
the occasion on which it is supposed to be sung. Macaulay's pic- 
turesque Introduction gives a full account of this occasion, the 
first and dramatic victory of the Romans over the Greeks, 275 
B. C. It will be noticed that Horatius is presented as composed 
three hundred and sixty years after the founding of the city : 
The Prophecy of Capys four hundred and seventy-nine years after. 
As Macaulay tells us, the age during which ballad poetry could be 
composed is drawing to an end and the period of literary poetry is 
about to dawn. But this Ballad, supposed to be written last, car- 
ries us back to the very foundation of Rome and thus spans the 
whole period which Macaulay had in mind. 

1. Amuliiis, grand-uncle of Romulus, founder of Rome, was 
king of the city Alba Longa, which had been founded by Ascanius. 
son of ^Eneas, on the hillside above the Alban Lake. Amulius 
dragged Numitor, his brother, from the throne and by the advice 
of Camers, the high-priest, buried Xumitor's daughter, Rhea Silvia, 



330 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

alive, and threw the two baby boys who had been born to her and 
the God Mars into the Tiber. Through the care of the gods, how- 
ever, the little twins were saved and nursed by a wolf till a shep- 
herd found them and adopted them as his foster-children. 

4. Aventine: Aventinus was a descendant of ^^neas. 

25. Notice the change in the metre : it w^ould accompany a 
change in the music, to a slower and more solemn strain. 

56. And on the hlade a head: This picture has a barbaric cast. 
Of Irish Cuchulin we are told : **In one hand he carried nine 
heads, nine also in the other : the which in token of valor and of 
skill in arms he held at arms' length and in sight of all the army 
shook." "Head-hunting" still lingers among the Igorots in the 
Philippines. The picture Macaulay draws here indicates an earlier 
epoch than do the pictures of the other Lays. 

80. Cliih and axe and how: Very different weapons from those 
used in The Battle of the Lake Regillus. 

94. Capys the sightless seer: Can you remember any other 
instances in literature of blind old minstrels? 

115. Arabian perfumes and Syrian dyes were loved and much 
used in the more effeminate days of Rome. Cf. Lady Macbeth : 
*'A11 the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand." 

121. Rome is not to be a merely commercial city : nor a center 
of effeminate luxury : nor a health resort. All three were familiar 
types to the ancients. 

132. The spirit of thy sire: This is the text of the following 
stanzas. The present stanza is Macaulay's interpretation of the 
Roman spirit. 

147. She dies in silence: For the same legend see Byron, Childe 
Harold, Canto IV, line 185. 

149. Pomona: The Roman goddess of fruits and orchards. 

150. Liher: An Italian rural deity. 

151. Pales: A rustic divinity, it is uncertain whether god or 
goddess. All these are the native Italian gods, — no importations 
from Greece. 

155. The epithet ivory is especially appropriate for the moon- 
light of the South. The chestnut is a common tree in Italy. 

156. Thy father: The military genius of the Romans probably 
suggested the myth that the founder of the city was the son of 
Mars. 

169. The soft Campanian: The fertile region south of Latium 
bred an effeminate race to whom contemptuous reference is often 
made in Latin literature. 

175. His marble Nymphs: The distinctive mark of each race as 
conceived by the fierce and haughty Roman is given in a line or 
half-line. 

176. Scrolls of wordy lore: Ancient books were written upon 
leaves of papyrus or parchment which were joined end to end and 
rolled on a long stick. The scroll was then unrolled to be read. 



NOTES ON MACAULAY^S POEMS 331 

177. The pilum: The long Roman spear. The trench was used 
in defense, the mound in attack. The Roman legion was made up 
of different numbers at different times, usually five or six thousand, 
divided into ten cohorts, each officered by six centurions or cap- 
tains of a hundred. 

181. See Virginia, 116. The Triumphs in which the conqueror 
was borne in his triumphant car up the Capitoline Hill to the 
Temple of Jove with his captives in his train, were the culminating 
moments of the public life of Rome. It was on the occasion of 
such a triumph that this Lay is supposed to be sung. 

185. The Yolscian: The reference is to the wars of Coriolanus. 

189. The Lucinnos: See Horatius 1, note. 

191. The proud Samnites: Rome fought three wars against the 
Samnites, who lived southeast of Latium. 

193. The Gaul shall come against thee: In this rapid prediction 
of the victorious advance of Rome, Macaulay dismisses most of her 
victories in one or two lines : but he puts victory over the Gauls in 
a four-line stanza by itself, to mark its importance by isolating it. 
The more special reference is probably to the famous victory over 
Brennus, in 390 B. C, when the cackling of the geese saved the 
city. 

197. The Greek shall come against thee: Now we come to the 
especial victory which the Lay is written to commemorate. See 
Macaulay's Introduction. 

200. The huge earth-shaking heast: The elephant, which so 
terrified the Romans that they were hard put to it to gain the 
victory. 

207. False Tarentum: It was "gay Tarentum" in The Battle of 
the Lake Regillus. 

215. Mark the change of metre. It gives an effect of gloating 
slowly over the feast. 

217. Hurrah! for the good iceapons: The Singer strikes his 
instrument more loudly and his voice rings forth. 

225. Hurrah! for the great triumph: Here comes the prophetic 
vision of the Triumph, sung to an audience which has just wit- 
nessed the Triumph itself or perhaps awaits its coming. 

230. The Red King: Pyrrhus. His name means Red. 

232. Recall the story in the Introduction. 

•235, etc. These are the spoils of the East, the richest, as 
Macaulay reminds us, ever yet seen in a Roman triumph. 

249. Manius Curius: His other name was Dentatus. He had 
defeated Pyrrhus and the Epirotes in a great battle at Beneventum 
in Samnium. 

257. Rosea . . . Mevania: Rosea was famous for its horses, 
Mevania for its beautiful white bulls such as may be seen in old 
Italian pictures of festal processions. 

266. The Suppliant's Grove: The Asylum of Romulus. See 
Regillus 721, note. 



332 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

269-288. This last stanza in a superb sweep looks out over the 
whole- expanse of the Roman Empire to be, from Greece, Syria, 
Egypt, and Africa, to far Northern lands and the remoter East. 
The Lay places us at the starting point of Roman history and 
concludes with a summary of the glory of Rome at its zenith. 

277. The reference is to the Colossus of Rhodes, one of the 
seven wonders of the ancient world. 

276. Dark red colonnades: Colonnades made of porphyry, a 
stone much used in Egypt. 

280. Byrsa: See Geographical Index, p. 316. 

285. Where Atlas: Look up the giant Atlas in a classical dic- 
tionary. Here the reference is rather to the African mountain 
range named after him. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 



333 



MATTHEW AEXOLD. 1822—1888. 
I. 

Matthew Arnold^ probably the most eminent English 
critic, and certainly one of the most notable among 
Victorian j^oets, was born in the year in which Shelley 
died. He was three years younger than Enskin and 
George Eliot, twenty-seven years younger than the 
veteran of Victorian letters, Thomas Carlyle. His 
books, including both poetry and prose, express per- 
haps with more sensitiveness than those of any other 
man, the main currents in the intellectual life of the 
central portion of the Aactorian period. 

By inheritance, by temperament, and by circum- 
stance, Matthew Arnold was a scholar. In many respects 
he reminds one of Gray, concerning whom he wrote an 
admirable essay. There is the same fastidiousness of 
taste, the same blending of classical and romantic in- 
stincts, the same academic stamp. Yet if we look at 
the whole scope and sweep of Matthew Arnold^s achieve- 
ment, we must judge him to have been a larger and 
nobler man than his eighteenth century counterpart. 
Gray idled away his life in pleasant academic seclusion, 
devoting himself to self-culture. How well and on how 
many lines Arnold served his day and generation, the 
following summary will show. 

The events in Arnold's honorable, laborious life may 
be briefly recorded. His early associations were with 
the lovely country of the English lakes, and he was 

335 



336 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

brought up in a feeling of reverence for the great poet 
"Wordsworth^ the interpreter of that region. His father, 
Dr. Thomas Arnold^ ^vas Head-Master of Engby. Mat- 
thew Arnold had his schooling partly at Engby, partly 
at "Winchester, another public school. That fine story, 
which every boy should know, Tom Broivns School-days 
by Thomas Hughes, tells what the great school was 
like in the days of Matthew Arnold and of his friends 
Arthur Stanley and Arthur Hugh Clough. From 
school, Arnold passed to the university of Oxford, which 
he always dearly loved, and more than once beauti- 
fully praised. Oxford in the forties was not like the 
cold eighteenth century Cambridge of Gray. It had 
lately been stirred to the depths by a great religious 
movement, the revival in the Church of England known 
as the Oxford or Tractarian Movement. The leader 
of the movement, John Henry Xewman, who was soon 
to leave the Church of England for that of Eome, 
was still preaching at the University Church, St. Mary^s. 
Pusey, Keble, and other leaders were familiar figures. 
The type of religion then flourishing at Oxford did not 
attract Matthew Arnold, who, though religious, was 
neither a mystic nor interested in controversies between 
churches. But there is no doubt that the excitement 
over things of the mind and soul that then possessed 
the finer young men in the University, fostered that 
keen and wistful interest in spiritual matters which is 
the undertone of all his writings. 

Arnold took the N'ewdigate prize for an English 
poem, and was elected Fellow of Oriel College in 1844. 
He published his first volume of poems, The Strayed 
Reveller, in 1848. That was a year of profound social 



MATTHEW AENOLD 337 

upheavals. Eeyohitions^ centering in France and Italy, 
were shaking the Continent; in England the year saw 
the culmination and collapse of the Chartist movement, 
the first general uprising of the working people in the 
A^ictorian age. In the midst of this excitement^ the 
quiet beauty of ArnokVs little volume aroused little 
attention^ though it is interesting to find that the book 
was reviewed by William Michael Eossetti^, in Tlie Germ, 
the short-lived organ of the Pre-Eaphaelite Brotherhood. 
Arnold published other volumes of poems in 1853^ 1858, 
and 1867. But his leisure for literary work was slight. 
At twenty-nine he married, and in order to" support 
himself and his family accepted the position of Inspector 
of Schools, which he held almost till the end of his life. 
He died in 1888. Durino: all the intervenins: vears he 
put his best energy and labor at the service of his 
professional work, meeting its severe demands with 
faithful, gallant, though sometimes rueful cheer. He 
contrived, however, in his scant hours of freedom, not 
only to write poems, but to enrich English literature 
with a large body of valuable criticism, the most sane 
and sensitive that it possesses. When one looks at the 
goodly row of volumes in the collected edition of Arnold's 
works, and reflects that they represent no deliberate life- 
work, but the product of a scant and hard-earned leisure, 
one feels a resolution to allow no handicaps, however 
serious, to serve as excuse for failure to give the world 
one^s best. 

Arnold was also for a time Professor of Poetry at 
Oxford. He travelled much on the Continent, in the 
interests of education, and he was at all times a studious 
lover of European literature, doing much to enlarge the 



338 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

intellectual horizon of his countrymen. Coleridge and 
Carlyle^ in an earlier generation^ had tried hard '"to 
Germanize the public.'^ Euskin and Eossetti^ in Arnold^s 
own day^ were bringing their countrymen under the 
spell of Italy. The country to which Arnold was espe- 
cially drawn was France, and through a constant effort 
to familiarize the English public with French literature 
and social life he sought to conquer that foe to all 
sound culture and right living, intellectual provincialism. 
Arnold's own mind had many of the qualities that he 
particularly valued in the French. His freshness and 
elasticity of sympathies no less than his discriminating 
insight entitle him to be called an English Sainte Beuve. 
Twice xlrnold visited America on lecture-tours, and 
told us many salutary truths concerning ourselves. 
Despite his keen criticism, he liked much in our country. 
Indeed, his unfailing critical honesty never degenerated 
into indifference or contempt. He was a sharp critic of 
the English national life and religion, but England had 
no more loyal son than he, and he remained to his death 
a faithful communicant of her established church. In 
private life Arnold knew much sorrow, courageously 
borne : three of his sons died within four years. He was 
a man devoted to his family and his friends : to flowers, 
to animals, and to all that is lovely in natural scenery. 
To those at a distance, he sometimes seemed harsh and 
supercilious; but the ones nearest him were the ones 
who loved and honored him most. 

II. 

Arnold^s prose writings may be divided into three 
groups: criticism of letters, of society, and of religion. 



MATTHEW AEXOLD 339 

He first turned to criticism of literature^ and many peo- 
ple think tliat his best and most enduring work was 
in tlris field. His first volumes of Essays in Criticism, 
comprising^ besides several essays on individual writers, 
two admirable studies of the function of criticism and 
of the intellectual situation in England, appeared in 1865. 
The days were past when University professors delivered 
no lectures, and two illuminating volumes, Celtic Litera- 
ture and On Translating Homer, were the fruits of Mr. 
Arnold^s professorship. The admirable quality of his 
work was swiftly recognized, and the essays which 
he contributed as introductions to editions of various 
authors, or as memorial addresses, have alL been collected. 
But his mind widened from the contemplation of 
literature to the contemplation of life. And soon he 
gave the public stimulating criticism of contemporaneous 
society. Culture and Anarchy, the volume in which 
he expressed himself most fully, was published in 1869. 
It is one of the most stimulating books of social criti- 
cism in the Victorian age, a period that was noteworthy 
for brilliant work in this line. Like his great contempo- 
raries, Carlyle and Euskin, Arnold is out of sympathy 
with his age : unlike them, he has no reactionary im- 
pulses nor yearnings for the restoration of past social 
conditions. He accepts democracy, which they never 
did, and he understands the necessity of social evolution. 
The goal of that evolution is, as he sees it, social equality : 
the means, the extension of that culture which is a pas- 
sion for "^"^making reason and the Will of God prevail.^^ 
The thought-provocative title of the book gives the clue 
to his ideas. Many later essays are in the same vein as 
Culture and Anarchy. Two in particular, entitled Z?em- 



340 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

ocracy and Equality, ma)' be mentioned as containing a 
clear expression of his ripest wisdom. It is instrnctive to 
compare the social discontent of Arnold with the com- 
placency of Macanlay. 

A man of Arnold^s serious nature and tradition could 
not pause with criticism of letters and society: he was 
impelled to discuss religion also. For England was in 
a ferment of religious unrest^ and all the great teachers, 
from Carlyle and Newman to George Eliot, had their 
solutions to offer. The title of Arnold^s most important 
book on religious problems. Literature and Dogma, sug- 
gests his distinctive attitude. He felt that the highest 
values of Christianity could never be lost, but that they 
were to be retained under the form not of dogma but of 
literature. ^^Morality touched with emotion,^^ was his 
famous definition of religion. God and the Bible, 
St, Paul and Protestantism, were books on similar lines. 
Arnold meant to help people to keep their faith, but he 
often did just the opposite. Deeply in earnest as he 
was, there was a flippancy of tone about his religious 
Avritings that troubled and unsettled his readers. His 
criticism on religion met a need of the day, but it is 
commonly judged to be more transitory in character 
and value than his criticism on letters or on social life. 
^Ye may, however, notice that his attitude is in certain 
respects far more familiar today than it was when he 
wrote. 

In all phases of Arnold's critical work, we feel the 
play of those qualities which he tells us himself a sound 
critic should possess : intellectual curiosity, disinterested- 
ness, sincerity. Add to these a choice if not unerring 



MATTHEW AENOLD 34I 

taste and a style at its best captivating and lucid, and we 
see what a stimulus his work as a critic gave to his age. 

III. 

That this critic should also have been a poet of a high 
order of excellence is at first surprising. But the sur- 
prise vanishes on closer knowledge^ for the poetry shows 
the same qualities as the prose. It answers to the much- 
discussed definition which he once gave. Poetry, said he, 
is ^^a criticism of life.^^ This may not be true of all 
poetry, but it is in the main true of his, which is the best 
expression we have, if we except the work of his friend 
and brother poet, Arthur Hugh Clough, of certain char- 
acteristic phases in the experience of intellectual men in . 
the Victorian age. In style, his poetry is exquisitely 
wrought : it is chiselled like a cut gem. Some people think 
it cold, but for others the emotion is all the more moving 
because the poet never yields to it without reserve, and 
keeps firm mastery over his instrument. Much of this 
emotion is elegiac in character. Arnold wrote one elabo- 
rate and beautiful elegy, Thyrsis, on his friend Clough. 
His verses on his father, on Goethe, on his little dog 
Geist, and on others whom he had loved, are full of noble 
melody and tender feeling. Moreover, all his more im-^ 
portant poems — Empedodes on ^tna, a lyrical drama, 
Switzerland, Stanzas on the Grande Chartreuse, and the 
most felicitous lyrics — are charged with under tones of 
regret for what is past, mingled with uncertainty about 
the future. Arnold had in his early years a theory that 
poetry should always deal with great action and should 
be universal in its appeal. He withdrew his drama, 
Empedocles on JStna, for a time, because it failed to 



342 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

meet this requirement. But;, in trnth^ nearly all his 
poetrj' fails to meet it. It deals, not with action, but 
with emotions and ideals. It appeals not to what is 
universal, but to experiences known only to the few. 
Arnold's instincts impelled him to write poems contrary 
to his critical convictions. Yet the poetry is none the 
w^orse for this; neither need the critical convictions be 
wholly despised. As a rule, these convictions were sound : 
but x^rnold's poetry sprang from very special conditions, 
and it met a special need, — the interpretation of certain 
phases in modern experience none the less human or 
deserving of study because they were hardly universal. 

IV. 

In Solirab and Rustum Arnold did for once carry out 
his critical theories. The poem deals with noble and 
heroic action : and the story of the father slaying his 
own son under a misapprehension, must appeal to the 
universal heart. It is indeed an old, old story, held in 
common by iVryan, Celtic, and Germanic tradition. 

In Germanic legend it appears as the epic Haduhrand, 
Only a fragment has come down to us : in this, 
Hadubrand the son is killed, like Sohrab. This is 
probably the more ancient outcome: but in younger 
tradition (see the Tliidre'ksaga, a German folk-song) the 
combat ends in a reconciliation. 

An interesting version of the tale may be found in 
Irish literature. It tells us how Cuchullin, the hero of 
the Tales of the Eed Branch, otherwise known as the 
Cycle of Ulster, slew unwitting his son Connla. Aife, the 
mother of Connla, was a warrior maid with whom 
Cuchullin had wrestled in his youth. In parting, he 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 343 

bade her place a ring on the finger of the son who 
was to be born to them^ and send the lad to Ireland to 
find his father. The boy is sent, bnt according to an 
old Irish custom is pnt under ^^geasa/^ or fairy bonds, 
never to reveal his name and never to refuse a combat. 
He knows all feats except one, the use of a special 
weapon called the ^^Gae Bulga.^' He fights ignorantly 
with CuchuUin, who slays him with this weapon and 
only as the boy is dying recognizes the ring on his finger. 
Over his son^s body Cuchullin utters a fine lament. 

The story in this version is wild and primitive. In the 
older Persian form also it has more of the fairy-tale than 
in the version Arnold chose; Sohrab is only ten years 
old when, assisting a warrior maiden in the defence of 
a castle, he enters into single combat with his father 
and is slain by him. The story is told by the Persian 
epic poet Firdusi in his epic of ShaJuiameh, He calls it 
^^A tale full of the waters of the eye.^^ The version of 
the story followed by Arnold is that given after Firdusi 
by Sir John Malcolm in his History of Persia: 

''The young Sohrab . . . had left his mother, and songiit 
fame under the banners of Afrasiab, whose armies he com- 
manded, and soon obtained a renown beyond that of all con- 
temporary heroes but his father. He had carried death and 
dismay into the ranks of the Persians, and had terrified the 
boldest warriors of that country, before Eustum encountered 
him, which at last that hero resolved to do, under a feigned 
name. They met three times. The first time they parted by 
mutual consent, though Sohrab had the advantage; the second, 
the youth obtained a victory, but granted life to his unknown 
father; the third was fatal to Sohrab, who, when writhing in 
the pangs of death, warned his "eonqueror to shun the vengeance 
that is inspired by parental woes, and bade him dread the rage 
of the mighty Eustum, who must soon learn that he had slain 



34J SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

his son Sohrab. These words, we are told, were as death to the 
aged hero; and when he recovered from a trance, he called in 
despair for proofs of what Sohrab had said. The afflicted and 
dying youth tore open his mail, and showed his father a seal 
which his mother had placed on his arm when she discovered to 
him the secret of his birth, and bade him seek his father. The 
sight of his OAvn signet rendered Enstum quite frantic; he 
cursed himself, attempting to put an end to his existence, and 
was only prevented by the efforts of his expiring son. After 
Sohrab ^s death, he burnt his tents and all his goods, and car- 
ried the corpse to Seistan, where it was interred; the army of 
Turan was, agreeably to the last request of Sohrab, permitted 
to cross the Oxus unmolested. To reconcile us to the improba- 
bility of this tale, we are informed that Eustum could have no 
idea his son was in existence. The mother of Sohrab had 
written to him her child was a daughter, fearing to lose her 
darling infant if she revealed the truth; and Eustum, as 
before stated, fought under a feigned name, an usage not 
uncommon in the chivalrous combats of those days.'' 

Arnold treats the theme in a dignified epic style. His 
treatment has uplift and majesty, but it afEects ns 
perhaps less poignantly than the old Irish way of story- 
telling. Arnold's method reminds us of what his lectures 
On Translating Homer described as the micthod of Homer 
himself. ^^The translator of Homer/^ he says, "should 
above all be penetrated by a sense of four qualities in 
his author, — that he is eminently rapid, that he is emi- 
nently plain and direct, both in the evolution of his 
thought and in the expression of it, that is, both in his 
syntax and in his words ; that he is eminently plain and 
direct in the substance of his thought, that is, in his 
matter and ideas ; and that finally he is eminently noble.^^ 
One can take these points gne by one — rapidity; plain- 
ness and directness of both speech and thought ; nobility 
of manner — and trace them in almost any isolated 



SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 345 

passage of Sohrab and Bustum. Taken together, they 
afford an all but perfect description of the merits of the 
poem —merits characteristic of the classic rather than 
the romantic spirit. The careful metaphors are quite 
in the vein of those used in Homer and A'lrgil, and apart 
from these the poem has few ornaments : all is direct, 
simple, lueidlv expressed; the feeling repressed rather 
than expanded, the pathos treated with a high simplicity. 
Arnold has studied his setting with great care and to 
good effect : the dress, the landscape, are alike true to 
history : but the effect is not that of a savage tale, such 
as the romanticist would make from these materials: 
we do not think of Eustum or of his son as half-tamed 
denizens of those wild Asiatic lands. Eather they are 
universal figures, expressing a passion and pain inde- 
pendent of circumstance : and this note of universality, 
so different from what the romanticist would seek to 
give, is at once the strength of the poem and in a sense 
its limitation. 

SOHEAB AXD EUSTHM. 

And the first grey of morning fiU'd the east, 

And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. 

But all the Tartar camp along the stream 

Was hush'd, and still the men were plung'd in sleep ; 

5 Sohrab alone, he slept not ; all night long 
He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed. 
But when the grey dawn stole into his tent. 
He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, 
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent, 

10 And went abroad into the cold wet fog. 



346 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

Tlirougli the dim camp^ to Peran-Wisa^s tent. 

Through the black Tartar tents he pass^d^ which stood 

Clustering like beehives on the low flat strand 

Of Oxus^ where the summer-floods overflow 
15 When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere : 

Through the black tents he pass'd^ o^er that low strand, 

And to a hillock came, a little back 

From the stream^s brink ; the spot where first a boat. 

Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. 
20 The men of former times had crown'd the top 

With a clay fort ; but that was f alFn, and now 

The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, 

A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread. 

And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood 
25 Upon the thick-piFd carpets in the tent, 

And found the old man sleeping on his bed 

Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms. 

And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step 

Was duird ; for he slept light, an old man's sleep ; 
30 And he rose quickly on one arm, and said : — 
^^Who art thou ? for it is not yet clear dawn. 

Speak ! is there news, or any night alarm ?'' 
But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said : — 

"Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa ! it is I. 
35 The sun is not yet risen, and the foe 

Sleep, but I sleep not ; all night long I lie 

Tossing and wakeful ; and I come to thee. 

For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek 

Thy counsel, and to heed thee as thy son, 
40 In Samarcand, before the army march'd ; 

And I will tell thee what my heart desires. 

Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan first 



SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 347 

I came among the Tartars and bore arms^ 

I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, 
45 At my boy^s years, the courage of a man. 

This too thou know^st, that while I still bear on 

The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world. 

And beat the Persians back on every field, 

I seek one man, one man, and one alone : 
50 Eustum, my father ; who I hop'd should greet, 

Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, 

His not unworthy, not inglorious son. 

So I long hop^d, but him I never find. 

Come then, hear now, and grant me w^hat I ask ! 
55 Let the two armies rest to-day : but I 

Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords 

To meet me, man to man ; if I prevail, 

Eustum will surely hear it : if I fall — 

Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. 
60 Dim is the rumour of a common fight 

Where host meets host, and many names are sunk ; 

But of a single combat fame speaks clear.^^ 
He spoke ; and Peran-Wisa took the hand 

Of the young man in his, and sighed, and said : — 
65 '^0 Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine ! 

Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs. 

And share the battlers common chance with us 

Who love thee, but must press for ever first. 

In single fight incurring single risk, 
70 To find a father thou hast never seen ? 

That were far best, my son, to stay with us 

Unmurmuring : in our tents, while it is war. 

And when ^t is truce, then in Afrasiab^s towns. 

But, if this one desire indeed rules all. 



3^8 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

75 To seek out Eustum, seek him not tliroiigli fight ! 
Seek him in peace^ and cslttj to his arms^ 
Sohrab ! carry an imwounded son ! 
But far hence seek him^ for he is not here. 
For now it is not as when I was young, 

80 When Enstnm was in front of eveiy fray ; 
But now he keeps apart, and sits at home, 
In Seistan^ with Zal, his father old, 
Whether that his own mighty strength at last 
Feels the abhorred approaches of old age, 

85 Or in some quarrel with the Persian King. 
There go ! — Thou Avilt not ? Yet my heart forebodes 
Danger or death awaits thee on this field. 
Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost 
To us; fain therefore send thee hence, in peace 

90 To seek thy father, not seek single fights 
In vain. But who can keep the lion^s cub 
From ravening, and who govern Eustum^s son ? 
Go : I will grant thee what thy heart desires.^^ 
So said he, and dropped Sohrab^s hand, and left 

95 His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay ; 
And o^er his chilly limbs his woollen coat 
He passed, and tied his sandals on his feet, 
And threw a white cloak round him, and he took 
In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword ; 

100 And on his head he set his sheep-skin cap, 
Black, glossy, curPd, the fleece of Kara-Kul ; 
And raised the curtain of his tent, and calFd 
His herald to his side, and went abroad. 

The sun by this had risen, and cleared the fog 

103 From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands. 
And from their tents the Tartar horsemen fiFd 



SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 349 

Into the open plain ; so Haman bade : 

Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa rurd 

The host, and still was in his lusty prime. 
no From their black tents, long files of horse, they streamed; 

As when some grey November morn the files, 

In marching order spread, of long-neck'd cranes 

Stream over Casbin and the southern slopes 

Of Elbnrz, from the Aralian estuaries, 
115 Or some frore Caspian reed-bed, southward bound 

For the warm Persian sea-board : so they streamed. 

The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard. 

First, with black sheep-skin caps and with long spears; 

Large men, large steeds, who from Bokhara come 
120 And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. 

Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south. 

The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, 

And those from Attruck and the Caspian sands ; 

Light men and on light steeds, who only drink 
125 The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. 

And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came 

From far, and a more doubtful service own'd; 

The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks 

Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards 
130 And close-set skull-caps ; and those wilder hordes 

Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste ; 

Kalmucks and unkempt Kuzzaks, tribes who stray 
Nearest the Pole ; and wandering Kirghizzes, 
Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere : — 
135 These all fil'd out from camp'iiito the plain. 
And on the other side the Persians f orm'd : 
First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seem'd, 
The Ilyats of Khorassan ; and behind, 



350 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

The royal troops of Persia^ horse and foot^ 

140 MarshalFd battalions bright in bnrnislrd steel. 
But Peran-Wisa with his herald came, 
Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front, 
And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. 
And when Ferood, who led the Persians, saw 

145 That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, 
He took his spear, and to the front he came, 
And checked his ranks, and fixM them where they stood. 
And the old Tartar came upon the sand 
Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said: — 

150 ^Terood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear ! 
Let there be truce between the hosts to-day. 
But choose a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man.^^ 
As, in the country, on a morn in June, 

155 When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, 
A shiver runs through the deep corn for joy. 
So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, 
A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran 
Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they lov^d. 

160 But as a troop of pedlars, from Cabool, 
Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, 
That vast sky-neighbouring mountain of milk snow; 
Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass 
Long flocks of traveling birds dead on the snow, 

165 Chok'd by the air, and scarce can they themselves 
Slake their parched throats with sugared mulberries; 
In single file they move, and stop their breath. 
For fear they should dislodge the overhanging snows. 
So the pale Persians held their breath with fear. 

170 And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up 



SOHEAB AND EUSTIIM 351 

To counsel ; Gudurz and Zoarrah came, 

And Ferabnrz, who ruFd the Persian host 

Second, and was the nncle of the King; 

These came and connseird, and then Gudurz said : — 

175 'Terood, shame bids us" take their challenge up, 
Yet champion have we none to match this youth. 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. 
But Rustum came last night ; aloof he sits 
And sullen, and has pitched his tents apart. 

180 Him will I seek, and carry to his ear 

The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name : 
Haply will he forget his wrath, and fight. 
Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up." 
So spake he ; and Ferood stood forth and cried : — 

185 ''Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said ! 
Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man." 

He spake: and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strode 
Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. 
But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, 

190 And crossed the camp which lay behind, and reach'd. 
Out on the sands beyond it, Eustum's tents. 
Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay. 
Just pitch'd ; the high pavilion in the midst 
Was Eustum's, and his men lay camp'd around. 

195 And Gudurz enter'd Eustum's tent, and found 
Eustum ; his morning meal was done, but still 
The table stood before him, charg'd with food : 
A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread. 
And dark green melons ; and there Eustum sate 

200 Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, 

And play'd with it ; but Gudurz came and stood 
Before him ; and he look'd, and saw him stand. 



353 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

And with a cry sprang np and dropped the bird, 
And greeted Gndnrz with both hands, and said : — 

205 ^'Welcome ! these eyes could see no better sight. 
What news ? but sit down first, and eat and drink/^ 

But Gudurz stood in the tent-door, and said : — 
^^Not now ! a time will come to eat and drink. 
But not to-day: to-day has other needs. 

210 The armies are drawn out, and stand and gaze ; 
For from the Tartars is a challenge brought 
To pick a champion from the Persian lords 
To fight their champion, and thou know^st his name : 
Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. 

215 Eustum, like thy might is this young man^s ! 
He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart ; 
And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old, 
Or else too weak ; and all eyes turn to thee. 
Come down and help us, Eustum, or we lose V^ 

220 He spoke ; but Eustum answer'd with a smile : — 
^^Go to ! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I 
Am older ; if the young are weak, the King 
Errs strangely : for the King, for Kai Khosroo, 
Himself is young, and honours younger men, 

225 And lets the aged moulder to their graves. 
Eustum he loves no more, but loves the young : 
The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. 
For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame? 
For would that I myself had such a son, 

230 And not that one slight helpless girl I have: 
A son so f am'd, so brave, to send to war, 
And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal, 
My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, 
And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, 



SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 353 

235 And he has none to guard his weak old age. 
There would I go^ and hang my armour up^ 
And with my great name fence that weak old man, 
And spend the goodly treasures I have got, 
And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab^s fame, 

240 And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, 

And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no more.'' 

He spoke, and smiFd ; and Gudurz made reply : — 
^^What then, Eustum, will men say to this. 
When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks 

245 Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, 
Hidest thy face ? Take heed lest men should say : 
Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame. 
And shuns to peril it with younger men/' 

And, greatly mov'd, then Eustum made reply: — 

250 ^^0 Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words ? 
Thou knowest better words than this to say. 
What is one more, one less, obscure or fanr d. 
Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? 
Are not they mortal, am not I myself ? 

255 But who for men of nought would do great deeds ? 
Come, thou shalt see how Eustum hoards his fame ! 
But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms ; 
Let not men say of Eustum, he was matched 
In single fight with any mortal man.'' 

260 He spoke, and frown'd ; and Gudurz turn'd, and ran 
Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy : 
Fear at his wrath, but joy that Eustum came. 
But Eustum strode to his tent-door, and call'd 
His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, 

265 And clad himself in steel ; the arms he chose 
Were plain, and on his shield was no device, 



354 SHOKTEK ENGLISH POEMS 

Only his helm was rich^ inlaid with gold^ 
And^ from the fluted spine atop, a plume 
Of horsehair wavM, a scarlet horsehair plume. 

270 So arniM, he issued forth ; and Euksh, his horse^ 
Followed him like a faithful hound, at heel, 
Euksh, whose renown was noisM through all the earth : 
The horse, whom Eustum on a foray once 
Did in Bokhara by the river find 

275 A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home^ 
And reared him : a bright bay, with lofty crest, 
Dight with a saddle-cloth of broider^d green 
Crusted with gold, and on the ground were workM 
All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. 

280 So followed, Eustum left his tents, and cross'd 
The camp, and to the Persian host appeared. 
And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts 
HaiFd ; but the Tartars knew not who he was. 
And dear as the wet diver to the ej^es 

285 Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, 
By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, 
Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, 
Having made up his tale of precious pearls, 
Eejoins her in their hut upon the sands : 
*290 So dear, to the pale Persians Eustum came. 

And Eustum to the Persian front advanced, 
And Sohrab arm'd in Haman^s tent, and came. 
And as afield the reapers cut a swath 
Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, 

295 And on each side are squares of standing corn. 
And in the midst a stubble, short and bare; 
So on each side were squares of men, with spears 
Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. 



SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 355 

And Eustum came upon the sand^ and cast 

300 His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw 
Sohrab come forth^ and ej^ed him as he came. 

As some rich woman, on a winter^s morn, 
Ej^es through her silken curtains the poor drudge 
Who with numb blacken^ fingers makes her fire 

305 At cock-c row, on a starlit winter^s morn, 

When the frost flowers the whitened window-panes. 
And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts 
Of that poor drudge may be ; so Eustum eyed 
The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar 

310 Came seeking Eustum, and defying forth 
All the most valiant chiefs : long he perus'd 
His spirited air, and wondered who he was. 
For very 5^oung he seemM, tenderly rear'd ; 
Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, 

315 Which in a queen^s secluded garden throws 
Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, 
By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound : 
So slender Sohrab seemM, so softly reared. 
And a deep pity entered Eustum's soul 

320 As he beheld him coming ; and he stood. 

And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said : — 
^^0 thou young man, the air of heaven is soft^ 
And warm, and pleasant ; but the grave is cold ! 
"Heaven^s air is better than the cold dead STave. 

325 Behold me : I am vast, and clad in iron. 
And tried ; and I have stood on many a field 
Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe : 
Xever was that field lost, or that foe sav'd. 
Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? 

330 Be governed ! quit the Tartar host, and come 



356 SHOKTEE ENGLISH POEMS 

To Iran^ and be a^, my son to nie^ 
And figlit beneath my banner till I die ! 
There are no youths in Iran brave as thon/^ 
So he spake^ mildly ; Sohrab heard his voice, 

335 The mighty voice of Eustnm, and he saw 
His giant figure planted on the sand, 
Sole, like some single tower, which a chief 
Hath bnilded on the waste in former years 
Against the robbers; and he saw that head, 

340 Streak'd with its fi^rst grey hairs : hope filPd his sonl. 
And he ran forward and embraced his knees. 
And clasped his hand within his own, and said : — 

^^Oh, by thy f ather^s head ! by thine own soul ! 
Art thou not Eustum? speak! art thou not he?^' 

345 But Enstnm eyed askance the kneeling youth. 
And turned awa}^, and spake to his own soul : — 

"Ah me, I muse what this }' oung fox may mean ! 
False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. 
For if I now confess this thing he asks, 

350 And hide it not, but say: Bustum is here! 
He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes. 
But he will find some pretext not to fight, 
And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, 
A belt or sword, perhaps, and go his way. 

355 And on a feast-tide, in Afrasiab^s hall, 
In Samarcand, he will arise and cry : 
^I challeng'd once, when the two armies camp'd 
Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords 
To cope with me in single fight; but they 

360 Shrank, only Eustum darM : then he and I 
Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away.^ 
So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud. 



SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 357 

Then were the chiefs of Iran sham'd through me/^ 
And then he tnrn'd^ and sternly spake aloud : — 
365 ^'^Eise ! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus 

Of Eustum ? I am here^ whom thou hast calFd 

By challenge forth : make good thy vaunt, or yield ! 

Is it with Eustum only thou wouldst fight ? 

Eash boy^ men look on Eustum^s face and flee I 
370 For well I know^ that did great Eustum stand 

Before thy face this day^ and were reveaFd^ 

There would be then no talk of fighting more. 

But being what I am^ I tell thee this : 

Do thou record it in thine inmost soul : 
375 Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, 

Or else thy bones shall strew this sand;, till winds 

Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer-floods, 

Oxus in summer, wash them all away/^ 

He spoke ; and Sohrab answered, on his feet : — 
380 ^^Art thou so flerce ? Thou wilt not fright me so ! 

I am no girl, to be made pale by words. 

Yet this thou hast said well, did Eustum stand 

Here on this field, there were no fighting then. 

But Eustum is far hence, and we stand here. 
385 Begin ! thou art more vast, more dread than I, 

And thou art proved, I know, and I am young : 

But yet success sways with the breath of Heaven. 

And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure 

Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know ; 
390 For we are all, like swimmers in the sea. 

Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, 

AYhich hangs, uncertain to which side to fall. 

And whether it will heave us up to land, 

Or whether it will roll us out to sea, 



358 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

395 Back out to sea^ to the deep waves of deaths 
We know not^ and no search will make us know : 
Only the event will teach iis^ in its honr/^ 

He spoke^ and Eustnm answerd not, but hnrPd 
His spear : down from the shoulder^ down it came, 

400 As on some partridge in the corn, a hawk 
That long has tow^er^d in the airy clouds, 
Drops like a plummet : Sohrab saw it come, 
And sprang aside, quick as a flash ; the spear 
Hiss'd, and went quivering down into the sand, 

405 Which it sent flying wide ; then Sohrab threw 

In turn, and full struck ; Eustum^'s shield sharp rang. 
The iron plates rang sharp, but turned the spear. 
And Rustum seized his club, which none but he 
Could wield; an unlopp'd trunk it was, and huge, 

410 Still rough : like those which men in treeless plains. 
To build them boats, fish from the flooded rivers, 
Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up 
By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time 
Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack, 

415 And strewn the channels with torn boughs ; so huge 
The club which Eustum lifted now, and struck 
One stroke ; but again Sahrab sprang aside, 
Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came 
Thundering to earth, and leapt from Eustum^s hand. 

420 And Eustum followed his own blow, and fell 

To his knees, and with his fingers clutchM the sand ; 
And now might Sohrab have unsheath'd his sword. 
And pierc'd the mighty Eustum while he lay 
Dizzy, and on his knees, 'and chok'd with sand : 

425 But he look'd on, and smiFd, nor bar^d his sword, 



SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 359 

But courteously drew back^ and spoke, and said : — 
''Thou strik'st too hard ! that club of thine will float 

Upon the summer-floods, and not my bones. 

But rise, and be not wroth ! not wroth am I ; 
430 No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. 

Thou say^st thou art not Eustum : be it so ! 

Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul ? 

Boy as I am, I have seen battles too ; 

Have waded foremost in their bloody vv^aves, 
435 And heard their hollow roar of dying men ; 

But never was my heart thus touched before. 

Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart ? 

thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven ! 

Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, 
440 And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, 

And pledge each other in red wine, like friends ; 

And thou shalt talk to me of Eustum^s deeds. 

There are enough foes in the Persian host, 

Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang ; 
445 Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou 

]\Iayst fight : fight them, when they confront thy spear ! 

But oh, let there be peace ^twixt thee and me !^^ 
He ceased, but while he spake, Eustum had risen 

And stood erect, trembling with rage ; his club 
450 He left to lie, but had regained his spear, 

"Whose fiery point now in his maiPd right-hand 

Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn-star. 

The baleful signs of fevers ; dust had soil'd 

His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering arms. 
455 His breast heaved, his lips f oam\l, and twice his voice 

Was chokM with rage ; at last these words broke way : — 
''Girl ! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands ! 



360 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Curl'd minion^ dancer^ coiner of sweet words ! 
Fight : let me hear thy hateful voice no more. 

460 Thou art not in Afrasiab^s gardens now 

With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance ; 
But on the Oxus-sands, and in the dance 
Of battle, and with me, wdio mxake no plaj^ 
Of war: I fight it out, and hand to hand. 

465 Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine ! 
Eemember all thy valour; try thy feints 
And cunning I All the pity I had is gone : 
Because thou hast shamed me, before both the hosts 
With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girFs wiles.^^ 

470 He spoke ; and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, 
And he too drew his sword : at once they rush'd 
Together, as tw^o eagles on one prey 
Come rushing down together from the clouds, 
One from tlie east, one from the west : their shields 

475 Dashed with a clang together, and a din 
Eose, such as that the sinewy w^oodcutters 
Make often in the forest^s heart at morn, 
Of hewing axes, crashing trees : such blows 
Eustum and Sohrab on each other haiFd. 

480 And you would say that sun and stars took part 
In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud 
Grew suddenly in heaven, and dark^d the sun 
Over the fighters' heads ; and a wind rose 
Under their feet, and moaning sw^ept the plain, 

485 And in a sandy Avhirlwind wrapped the pair. 

In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone ; 
For both the on-looking hosts on either hand 
Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, 
And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. 



SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 361 

490 But in the gloom they fought^ with bloodshot eyes 
And labouring breath ; first Eustum struck the shield 
AVhich Sohrab held stifl out : the steel-spiked spear 
Eent the tough plates^ but f aiFd to reach the skin, 
And Eustum plucked it back with angry groan. 

495 Then Sohrab with his sword smote Eustum^s helm. 
Nor clove its steel quite through ; but all the crest 
He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume, 
Never till now defiPd, sank to the dust; 
And Eustum bow'd his head; but then the gloom 

500 Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, 

And lightnings rent the cloud ; and Euksh, the horse. 
Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry : 
No horse's cry was that, most like the roar 
Of some pain'd desert-lion, who all day 

505 Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, 

- And comes, at night, to die upon the sand. 

The two hosts heard that cry, and quak'd for fear. 

And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. 

But Sohrab heard, and quaiPd not, but rush'd on, 

510 And struck again ; and again Eustum bow'd 
His head; but this time all the blade, like glass. 
Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm. 
And in the hand the hilt remained alone. 
Then Eustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes 

515 Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear. 
And shouted : Eustum ! — Sohrab heard that shout. 
And shrank amaz'd ; back he recoiPd one step. 
And scanmd with blinking eyes the advancing form ; 
And then he stood bewildered ; and he dropped 

520 His covering shield, and the spear pierc'd his side. 
He reeFd, and staggering back, sank to the ground ; 



362 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

And then the gloom dispersM^ and the wind fell^ 
And the bright snn broke forth^ and melted all 
The cloud ; and the two armies saw^ the pair : 

525 Saw Eustmn standing, safe upon his feet, 
And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. 

Then, with a bitter smiile, Eustum began : — 
"Sohrab, thon thonghtest in thy mind to kill 
A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, 

530 And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab^s tent. 

Or else that the great Eustum would come down 
Himself to fight, and that th}^ wiles would move 
His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. 
And then that all the Tartar host would praise 

585 Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, 
To glad thy father in his weak old age. 
Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man ! 
Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be 
Than to thy friends, and to thy father old.^^ 

540 And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied: — 
*^*Unknown thou art : yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. 
Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man ! 
Xo : Eustum slays me, and this filial heart. 
For vrere I matched with ten such men as thee, 

545 And I were that which till to-day I was. 
They should be lying here, I standing there. 
But that beloved name unnerved my arm : 
That name, and something, I confess, in thee, 
"Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield 

550 Fall ; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe. 
And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. 
But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear: 
The mighty Eustum shall avenge my death, 



SOHEAE AND EUSTUM 363 

My father^ whom I seek through all the world ! 
555 He shall avenge my deaths and punish thee/^ 

As when some hunter in the spring hath found 

A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, 

Upon the craggy isle of a hill-lake, 

And pierced her with an arrow as she rose, 
560 And followed her to find her where she fell 

Far off ; — anon her mate combes winging back 

From huntings and a great way off descries 

His huddling young left sole : at that, he checks 

His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps 
565 Circles above his eyry, with loud screams 

Chiding his mate back to her nest ; but she 

Lies dying, with the arrow in her side. 

In some far stony gorge out of his ken, 

A heap of fluttering feathers : never more 
570 Shall the lake glass her, flying over it ; 

Ifever the black and dripping precipices 

Echo her stormy scream as she sails by : 

As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss. 

So Eustum knew not his ovm. loss, but stood 
575 Over his dying son, and knew him not. 

But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said : — 

^'^What prate is this of fathers and revenge? 

The mighty Eustinn never had a son/^ 

And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied : — 
580 ^'^Ah yes, he had ; and that lost son am I. 

Surely the news will one day reach his ear, 

Eeach Eustum, where he sits, and tarries long, 

Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here; 

And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap 
585 To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. 



361 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

Fierce man, bethink tliee^ for an only son ! 

What will that grief ^ what will that vengeance be ? 

Oh^ could I live till I that grief had seen ! 

Yet him I pity not so mnch^ but her^ 
590 My mother^ who in Ader-baijan dwells 

"With that old King^ her father, who grows grey 

With age, and rnles over the valiant Koords. 

Her most I pity, who no m.ore will see 

Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, 
595 With spoils and honour, when the war is done. 

But a dark rumour will be bruited up. 

From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear : 

And then will that defenceless woman learn 

That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more, 
600 But that in battle with a nameless foe. 

By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain/^ 

He spoke ; and as he ceas'd, he wept aloud. 

Thinking of her he left, and his own death. 

He spoke ; but Eustum listened, plunged in thought, 
605 Xor did he yet believe it was his son 

Who spoke, although he calPd back names he knew ; 

For he had had sure tidings that the babe, 

AYhich was in Ader-baijan born to him, 

Had been a puny girl, no boy at all : 
610 So that sad mother sent him word, for fear 

Eustum should seek the boy, to train in arms. 

And so he deemed that either Sohrab took. 

By a false boast, the style of Eustum^s son ; 

Or that men gave it him^ to swell his fame. 
615 So deem'd he ; yet he listened, plunged in thought. 

And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide 

Of the bright rocking ocean sets to shore 



SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 365 

At the full moon ; tears gathered in his eyes ; 
For he remembered his own early youth, 

620 And all its bounding rapture ; as, at dawn, 
The shepherd from his mountain-lodge descries 
A far bright city, smitten by the sun, 
Through many rolling clouds, so Eustum saw 
His youth ; saw Sohrab^s mother, in her bloom ; 

625 And that old King, her father, who lov^d well 
His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child 
With joy; and all the pleasant life they led. 
They three, in that long-distant summer-time: 
The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt 

630 And hound, and morn on those delightful hills 
In Ader-baijan. And he saw that j^outh. 
Of age and looks to be his own dear son. 
Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, 
Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe 

635 Of an unskilful gardener has been cut. 
Mowing the garden grass-plots near its bed, 
And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom. 
On the mown, dying grass : so Sohrab lay. 
Lovely in death, upon the common sand. 

640 And Eustum gaz^d on him with grief, and said : — 
^^0 Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son 
Whom Eustum, wert thou his, might well have lov'd. 
Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men 
Have told thee false : thou art not Eustum^s son, 

645 For Eustum had no son ; one child he had. 
But one : a girl who with her mother now 
Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us; 
Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war/^ 
But Sohrab answer d him in wrath; for now 



366 SHOETEE ENGLISH POEMS 

659 The anguish of the deep-fix^d spear grew fierce. 
And he desired to draw forth tlie steely 

And let the blood flow free, and so to die ; 
But first he would convince his stubborn foe. 
And, rising sternly on one arm, he said : — 
655 ^^Man, who art thou who dost deny my words ? 
Truth sits upon the lips of dying men; 
And falsehood, while I liv'd, was far from mine. 
I tell thee, pricked upon this arm I bear 
That seal which Eustum to my mother gave, 

660 That she might prick it on the babe she bore/^ 

He spoke ; and all the blood left Eustum^s cheeks. 
And his knees tottered, and he smote his hand 
Against his breast, his heavy-mailed hand, 
That the hard iron corslet clanked aloud ; 

665 And to his heart he pressed the other hand. 
And in a hollow voice he spake, and said : — 

"Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie ! 
If thou show this, then art thou Eustum's son/^ 
Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed 

670 His belt, and near the shoulder bar^d his arm, 
iVnd showed a sign in faint vermilion points 
Pricked: as a cunning workman, in Pekin, 
Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, 
An emperor^s gift ; at early morn he paints, 

675 And all day long ; and, when night comes, the lamp 
Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands : 
So delicately pricked the sign appeared 
On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Eustum's seal. 
It was that griffin, which of old reared Zal, 

nso Eustum's great father, whom they left to die, 
A helpless babe, among the mountain-rocks ; 



SOHRAB AND EUSTUM 357 

Him that kind creature found, and reared, and lov'd : 
Then Eustum took it for his glorious sign. 
And Sohrab bar^d that image on his arm, 
685 And himself scanned it long with mournful eyes^. 
And then he touched it with his hand, and said : — 

"How say^st thou ? Is that sign the proper sign 
Of Eustum^s son, or of some other man^s?^^ 

He spoke ; but Eustum gaz^d, and gaz^d, and stood 
690 Speechless ; and then he uttered one sharp cry : 

boy — thy father! and his voice choked there. 
And then a dark cloud passed before his eyes. 
And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. 
But Sohrab crawPd to where he lay, and cast 

695 His arms about his neck, and kissed his lips, 

And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks. 
Trying to call him back to life ; and life 
Came back to Eustum : and he op^d his eyes, 
And they stood wide with horror ; and he seized 

700 In both his hands the dust which lay around. 
And threw it on his head, and smirched his hair. 
His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms ; 
And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast. 
And his sobs choked him ; and he clutched his sword, 

705 To draw it, and forever let life out. 

But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, 
' And with a soothing voice he spaKe, and said: — 
"Father, forbear ! for I but meet to-day 
The doom which at my birth was written down 

710 In Heaven ; and thou art Heaven^s unconscious hand« 
Surely my heart cried out that it was thou. 
When first I saw thee ; and thy heart spoke too, • 

1 know it : but fate trod those promptings down. 



368 SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

Under its iron heel ; f ate^ fate engaged 

715 The strife^ and hurFd me on my father's spear. 
But let "US speak no more of this : I find 
My father ; let me feel that I have found ! 
Come^ sit beside me on this sand^ and take 
My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks, 

720 And wash them with thy tears, and say : My son ! 
Quick ! quick ! for numbered are my sands of life. 
And swift ; for like the lightning to this field 
I came, and like the wind I go away : 
Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind. 

725 But it was writ in Heaven that this should be.'' 
So said he, and his voice released the heart 
Of Eustum, and his tears broke forth : he cast 
His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud. 
And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both the hosts, 

730 When they saw Eustum's grief ; and Euksh, the horse, 
With- his head bowing to the ground, and mane 
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe 
First to the one, then to the other, mov'd 
His head, as if inquiring what their grief 

735 Might mean ; and from his dark compassionate eyes, 
The big warm tears roU'd down, and cak'd the sand. 
But Eustum chid him with stern voice, and said : — 

^^Euksh, now thou grievest ; but Euksh, thy feet 
Should first have rotted on their nimble joints, 

740 Or e'er they brought thy master to this field !" 
But Sohrab look'd upon the horse and said : — 
^Ts this, then, Euksh ? How often, in past days. 
My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed. 
My terrible father's terrible horse ! and said 

745 That I should one day find thy lord and thee. 



SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 369 

Come^ let me lay my hand upon thy mane ! 
Enksh, thon art more fortunate than I : 
For thou hast gone where I shall never go^ 
And snuffed the breezes of my father^s home. 

750 And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan^ 

And seen the Elver of Helmnnd, and the Lake 
Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself 
Has often strok'd thy neck, and given thee food^ 
Corn in a golden platter, soaked with wine, 

755 And said: Euhsh, tear Rustum well I — but I 
Have never known my grandsire^s fnrrow^d face, 
Xor seen his lofty house in Seistan, 
Nor slaked m^y thirst at the clear Helmund stream; 
But lodged among my father^s foes, and seen 

760AfrasiaVs cities onty: Samarcand, 
Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste. 
And the black Toorkmun tents ; and only drunk 
The desert rivers : Moorghab and Tejend, 
Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, 

765 The northern Sir ; and this great Oxus stream, 
The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die/^ 

Then, with a heavy groan, Eustum bewaiPd : — 
^^Oh, that its waves were flowing over me ! 
Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt 

770 EoU tumbling in the current o^er my head !*^ 

But, with a grave, mild voice, Sohrab replied : — 
"^^Desire not that, my father ! thou must live : 
For some are born to do great deeds, and live, 
As some are born to be obscured, and die. 

775 Do thou the deeds I die too young to do. 
And reap a second glory in thine age : 
Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. 



370 SHOKTER ENGLISH POEMS 

But come : tliou seest this great host of men 

Which follow me ; 1 pray thee^ slay not these ! 
780 Let me entreat for them : what have they done ? 

They followed me, my hope, my fame, my star. 

Let them all cross the Oxns back in peace. 

But me thou must bear hence, not send with them. 

But carry me with thee to Seistan, 
785 And place me on a bed, and mourn for me ; 

Thou, and the snow-haired Zal, and all thy friends. 

And thou must lay me in that lovely earth, 

x^nd heap a stately mound above my bones, 

And plant a far-seen pillar over all, 
790 That so the passing horseman on the waste 

May see m.y tomb a great way off, and cry : 

SoliTob, the mighty Bustmns son, lies there. 

Whom his great father did in ignorance Mil! 

And I be not forgotten in my grave /^ 
795 And, with a mournful voice, Eustum replied : — 

^Tear not ! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, 

So shall it be : for T will burn my tents. 

And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me. 

And carry thee away to Seistan, 
800 And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee. 

With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends. 

And I will lay thee in that lovely earth. 

And heap a stately mound above thy bones. 

And plant a far-seen pillar over all, 
S05 And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. 

And I will spare thy host ; j^ea, let them go : 

Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. 

What should I do with slaying any more? 

For would that all that I have ever slain 



SOHRAB AND EUSTUM 371 

810 Might be once more alive : my bitterest foes. 

And they who were caird champions in their time. 
And through whose death I v/on that fame I have ! 
And I were notliing bnt a comm^on man, 
A poor, mean soldier, and without renown, 

815 So thon mightest live too, m.j son, my son ! 
Or rather would that I, even I myself. 
Might now be lying on this bloody sand, 
ISTear death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine, 
Xot thou of mine ! and I might die, not thou, 

820 And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan ; 

i^nd Zal might weep above my grave, not thine. 
And say: son, I weep thee not too sore. 
For willingly, I 'know, thou mefst thine end! 
But now in blood and battles was my youth, 

825 And full of blood and battles is my age ; 
And I shall never end this life of blood/^ 

Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied :— 
"A life of blood indeed, thou dreadful man ! 
But thou shalt j^et have peace ; only not now, 

830 Xot yet : but thou shalt have it on that day, 
When thou shalt sail in a high-masted. ship, 
Thou and the other peers of Ivai Khosroo, 
Eeturning home over the salt blue sea. 
Prom laying thj dear master in his grave/^ 

8B5 And Eustum gaz^d in SohraVs face, and said:— 
"Soon be that daj^, m.y son, and deep that sea ! 
Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure/^ 

He spoke ; and Sohrab smiPd on him., and took 
The spear, and drew it from his side, and eas'd 

840 His wound^s imperious anguish ; but the blood 
Came welling from the open gash, and life 



373 SHOETER ENGLISH POFMS 

Flowed with the stream ; all down his cold white side 
The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soiPd^ 
Like the soiled tissue of white violets 

845 Left, freshly gathered, on their native bank, 
By children whom their nurses call with haste 
Indoors from the snn^s eye; his head droopYl low. 
His limbs grew slack ; motionless, white, he lay. 
White, with eyes closed ; only when heavy gasps, 

850 Deep heavy gasps, quivering through all his frame. 
Convulsed him back to life, he opened them. 
And fix^d them feebly on his father^s face; 
Till now all strength was ebb^d : and from his limbs 
Unwillingly the spirit fled away, 

855 Eegretting the warm mansion which it left. 

And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world. 

So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead: 
And the great Enstiim drew his horseman^s cloak 
Down o^er his face, and sate by his dead son. 

860 As those black granite pillars, once high-reared 
By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear 
His house, now ^mid their broken flights of steps 
Lie prone, enormons, down the moimtain side: 
So, in the sand, lay Eustnm by his son. 

865 And night came down over the solemn waste. 
And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, 
And darkened all; and a cold fog, with night. 
Crept from the Oxns. Soon a hum arose. 
As of a great assembly loosed, and fires 

870 Began to twinkle through the fog ; for now 

Both armies mov^d to camp, and took their meal : 
The Persians took it on the open sands 
Southward, the Tartars by the river marge : 



SOHEAB AND KUSTUM 373 

And Eustum and his son were left alone. 

875 But the majestic river floated on, 

Out of the mist and hum of that low land. 
Into the frosty starlight, and there mov'd, 
Eejoicing, through the hnsh'd Chorasmian waste. 
Under the solitary moon : he flowed 

880 Eight for the polar star, past Orgunje, 

Brimming, and bright, and large ; then sands begin 
To hem his watery march, and dam his streams, 
And split his currents, that for many a league 
The shorn and parcelled Oxns strains along 

885 Throngli beds of sand and matted rushy isles ; 
Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had 
In his high mountain-cradle in Pamere, 
A f oil'd circuitous wanderer : till at last 
The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide 

890 His luminous home of waters opens, bright 

And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars 
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. 

SOHEAB AND EUSTUM 

NOTES. 

Line 1. And: The poem begins with a conjunction in order to 
give the epic tone by suggesting that this story is only an episode 
in an action of larger scope. 

2. The Oxus stream: The Oxus is for 680 miles the boundary 
between Afghanistan and Russia. It rises in the Pamir mountains 
and flows in a general northwesterly direction into the Aral Sea. 
It is "an imposing stream, rarely less than a thousand yards wide, 
and in some places fully a mile across." 

11. Peran-Wisa is a famous figure in the Persian Epic : an aged 
sage, prime-minister to his monarch, filling something the place that 
Nestor fills in the Iliad. 

12. Through the hlack Tartar tents: Throughout the poem, 
ArnoM works up his local color carefully. It is that of the wild, 
half-civilized life of the tribes in Central Asia, where even today 
conditions are almost as primitive as in Homeric times. Some 



374: SHOETER ENGLISH POEMS 

critics find, however, that the Greek tone of the poem does not quite 
harmonize with the Oriental setting. 

25. Carpets: Rugs ; one of the Persian touches. 

40. Samarcancl: For the numerous places mentioned in the 
poem consult the Century Atlas. 

82. Zal, his father old: The father of Rustum was always 
called Zal the Aged, because he was born with white hair. The 
story of his wooing of Rustum's mother is familiar from many a 
fairy-tale. When a youth he came one day to the foot of a high 
tower, in which sat a maiden whom he loved as soon as he saw her. 
The tower appeared inaccessible, but the maiden let down to him 
her beautiful long black hair, and he used it as a ladder and 
climbed up to her. 

Ill, etc. One of the most striking features of the poem is the 
frequency of long similes, employed by Arnold with deliberate inten- 
tion of copying the method of Homer. It will be noted that with 
few exceptions they are drawn from the life and landscape of Cen- 
tral Asia. At first, they were apparently of a more general nature. 
Arnold writes to a critical friend : "What you say concerning the 
similes looks very just on paper. I can only say that I took a 
great deal of trouble to orientalize them (The Bahrein diver" — 
see line 1184 — "was originally an ordinary fisher), because I thought 
they looked strange, and jarred, if Western." 

129. The Jaxartes: This river is more commonly known as the 
Syr Daria. It, too, flows into the Aral Sea. 

160. But as a troop: Notice how constantly Arnold puts the 
second member of the simile first. This is the Homeric custom, 
but here it becomes almost mechanical. 

Stopford Brooke does not like the similes in this poem. He says 
that Arnold, like Homer himself, seems to fetch them from other 
poems and fit them in unsuitably. And again : "They weaken the 
passion in the poem and retard the movement." The student 
would do well to consider whether or no he agrees with the critic. 
Mr. Brooke adds an excellent account of the function which a simile 
should serve : some may think that Arnold meets his demands more 
nearly than he is willing to admit : 

"The just simile should only be introduced when the action or 
the emotion is heightened, when the moment is worthy, and when, 
as it were in a pause, men draw in their breath to think what may 
happen next, for the moment has reached intensity. The simile fills 
that pause and allows men to breathe." 

216. He has the wild stag's foot, etc. Note the force of this 
recurrent descriptive phrase. So in the classic epic, one phrase or 
epithet is reserved for each hero. 

257. But I icill fight unknotcn: A favorite device with heroes 
alike of epic and romance. Sir Lancelot, in Malory's Morte 
d'Arthxir, is especially addicted to it. 

284. See Note, line 111. 



SOHKAB AND KUSTUM: NOTES 375 

302. As some rich icoman: This is the first simile that is of a 
purely general character. The scene might be Oriental, but the 
lines suggest nothing but London. In themselves they are vivid 
and admirable : perhaps Arnold could not bear to sacrifice them 
when he "orientalized"' his similes. 

314. Like some young cypress: This, on the other hand, is in 
perfect keeping with the whole tone and atmosphere of the poem. 

447. But oh. Let there he peace ticix-t thee and me: Notice 
that after the first, all the pleadings for peace come from Sohrab. 

480. And you ivouJd say: In the following passage we gain 
an effect of supernatural awe with no real use of the supernatural. 

556. As tvhen some hunter: The longest of the similes. It 
surely meets Stopford Brooke's requirements in one respect : the 
moment is worthy and the suspense is keen. 

634. Like some rich hyacinth: A figure from classical literature. 

671. And showed a sign: In the old story, Sohrab wears a 
bracelet or a ring given to his mother by Rustum. The tattooed 
sign is far better, both because it is surer proof and because it 
introduces us to the grilfin, who according to the legend, was 
foster-nurse to Zal. 

730. And Ruksh, the horse: Compare with this passage the tears 
wept by the horse of Herminius in The Battle of the Lake RegiUus. 
The prototypes of both are the horses of Achilles who weep over 
the body of Patroclus, in Homer. 

742. Is this, then, Rukshf The speeches of Sohrab after he is 
wounded make one feel his youth and boyish charm. 

799-805. The repetition increases the gravity and majesty of 
the passage, making it round like a chant or dirge. The whole 
method throughout this scene between the father and the dying 
Bon is that of epic, not of dramatic, poetry : the movement is 
solemn and slow, and the emotion calm despite its depth. 

827. Then, at the point of death: According to old legend, here 
followed, dying men are endowed with prophetic power. 

Firdusi places this episode about the middle of the career of 
Rustum. He has many other adventures. Among them he lives 
to fight with the son of Sohrab : but this time the identity of the 
two combatants is discovered, and they are reconciled. 

865. And night came doicn over the solemn tcaste: "The poem 
closes in a lonely beauty. The son and the father lie alone on the 
plain as night falls, between the mourning hosts, none daring to 
intrude. The dark heaven alone is their tent and their sorrow 
their shroud and we hear the deep river flowing by, the image of 
the destiny of man that bears us on, helpless, on its breast, until 
with it we find the sea." — Stopford Brooke. 

Firdusi continues his poem with a fervid description of the 
wild grief of the mother of Sohrab. Arnold's severe taste 
excluded it. 

875. But the majestic river floated on: *'Below Kamish to its 



376 SHOETEK ENGLISH POEMS 

final disappearance in the Aral Sea, the great river rolls in silent 
majesty through a vast expanse of sand and desert." — EncyclopcBdia 
Britannica. 

Richard Holt Hutton says : ''Arnold, after describing the tender 
farewell of Sohrab to his father, concludes with this most beautiful 
passage, in which the accomplished geographer turns the half- 
scientific, half-poetical pleasure which he always betrays in defining 
a geographical course to the purpose of providing a poetical ano- 
dyne for the pain which the tragic ending . . . has given. . . . 
Of course the intention may have been to make the flow of the 
Oxus ... a sort of parable of the unhappy Rustum's great 
career, and the peace of his passing away : but nothing of this is 
so much as hinted and v>^e should rather say that, though the course 
of a great river may be selected . . . for the vague analogy it 
presents to the chequered life of a great leader, the intention of the 
poet is simply to refresh his own mind after the spectacle of mis- 
spent heroism and clouded destiny, with the image of one of 
Nature's greater w^orks in which there seems to be . . . the 
same loss of pristine force and grandeur, and yet a recovery of all 
the majestic volume and triumphant strength of the earlier period 
at the end," 



FEB 19 1912 



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